Â Â© Newsfix
The scents of summer, once so moist and vast,
now scorch your nose. O how your pricked eyes water!
This fireâ€™s going to last and last and last
until your in-laws, wife, two sons and daughter
collapse among the Pepsis, Cokes and chips.
The makeshift rescue center, where youâ€™ve learned
some distant neighborsâ€™ names from their own lips,
fills still with losers just like you. Hurt. Burnt.
A dry La NiĂ±a winter, snow-melt, drought
(July: Colfax, June: Colorado Springs,
New Mexico) let heated winds strike out
across your parchment landscape with a zing
that flared up like a sulphurous safety match.
But hereâ€™s the catch: Can this mean climate change
is real? Do savvy Californians watch
what happened back in 2009, the range
of wildfires: Santa Barbara, Santa Cruz
(their so-called Lockheed Fire), the Station Fire
near L.A.? Half a million square miles. News.
You sweat. Your wife and family, they perspire.
AoĂ»t, aoĂ»t, aoĂ»t, aoĂ»t! â€“ August, moaned in French,
needs no translation. You can smell and feel
the fall and peel of summer. Inch by inch
you sink into this smoky state. You reel.
You suddenly realize what really counts:
Youâ€™re still alive. Donâ€™t underestimate
again how unseen danger creeps and mounts.
Ooo, ooo, ooo, ooo â€“ August stops you at its gate!
— Al Young
Â Photo: Joseph Robinson
from KQED San Francisco