in the woods behind my house.
The smell of woodsmoke
burning my nose and eyes,
filling my hair and my clothes
so I carry it around with me
and can't escape it.
The clouds of smoke rising up
to meet the beautiful blue sky,
smudging it, putting a mar on it.
Flecks of ash falling around softly,
landing on my car, my house, my hand.
Driving me back inside
when I'd rather be out.
Falling outside my window like rain
on what should be a fresh clean spring day.
Promise of yet another season
of buzzing
and dozing
and hammering.
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