Red Moon Summer
The West is burning.
Drought and heat coupled,
Created kindling, and a
Spark,
Cause unknown:
Maybe dry lightning,
Maybe a careless camper,
Or a cigarette tossed by a
Passing driver, or maybe just
The scorch of the sun,
Lit the world.
The summer's been
Unnaturally cool here,
Eastward of the Western downs.
Hot days shorter in duration
If not length.
The flames of the West
Have stolen our heat,
But the moon glows crimson,
And the air smells of
Woodsmoke and
Ash.
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