In The Kingdom of Wind

The hills are burning,
burning. There's haze draped
all along the knees of the Cascades.
There's ash falling in The Dalles.
I can taste smoke from here.

A storm sideswipes the coast
and pushes air through the Gorge
like toothpaste through a tube. But no rain
this far east, just the wind
that drives the fire on like whips
and makes the trees throw up their arms in terror.

Across the river, on the freeway
a truck hauls a windmill vane
more than twice the length of a semi.
What a puny slice of this vast current,
this river of air, this kingdom of wind.

River-smoothed stones rattle across
the splintery top of a picnic table
at Horsethief Lake. In the grassy flat
behind me, a killdeer calls.

--Columbia Hills State Park/Horsethief Lake, August 28 2009
Collection available! Knocking from Inside