The hillsides here roll upwards,
dry, barren, thirsty stubble. No rain
in many months. We hold our breath,
fearing a spark to start
an unstoppable conflagration.
We fear a careless smoker,
an errant cook-out. With winds
at the ready, we face the stand-off,
breath held. A dread act,
inadvertent, or ill guided could
devour us in crackling flame.
Must we wait for God-given rains,
still months away to ease
our nightmares, or can we find
another way to hold catastrophes at bay?
"With all the beauty surrounding me here above the Verde Valley, how could I not create more beauty?"