We Were the Lucky Ones

2 AM Monday morning
I wake in the night to glance out
my bedroom window.

Fire wide as the western hills
and as high 
a red wall.

In the dark 
it looks like it is half way
across the field behind the house.

That night the valley 
watched in the dark
except for the red,

and the gold
where the flames
flared. A house and a barn

on the next road.
The wind screamed
like a demon.

Destruction with
and without
flame. Three trees down

in our yard alone.
A half dozen oaks 
on the road.

The week of fear:
forced exile, 
unplanned.

My parents stayed and worked 
and watched the 
backfire 

the northern hills
as long as that terrible week. 
We will never forget.

We were the lucky ones.

Written in the aftermath of the fires of October 8, 2017.