The Finish Line

The bright orange tips of heat dance and prance,
Leap and bound,
With the grace of a ballerina
As they move this way and that
Like snakes in the grass;
The crooked flames sneak up on the clear, pacific sky,
Licking and lapping with the tips of their tongues,
Striving to taste every morsel of air,
Engulfing the clean oxygen, and
Blotting it out with charcoal ashes,
Black and sooty, mimicking the pupils of our eyes
That remain entranced, enthralled with the spectacle of it all.
The crackling laughter resonates in our ears
And the clattering of helpless branches, falling like pixie sticks,
Engage our minds as we watch this race of nature.
The infamous inferno blazing bright,
Finding itself in a foot race against droplets of moisture
That threaten the chance of freedom.
Watch it burn,
Watch it burn.

--Jodi Leigh Miller, October 2000