range

mt hood pine-screened, misted

by distance and chilled morning dew

tinged now with warming orange

as the sun insists on break of day

from far beyond our little planet

watching dark clouds gather

  the poem reached within me

describing a tree’s cognizance

of painful damage of storm and fire

rooted as it was, unable to run away

shuddering now in expectant fear

watching dark clouds gather – thunderstorm?

or fire?