Another fire engine races up River Road. Lights flash. A siren wails. A horn blasts.
We don’t smell smoke anymore, but a gray haze hangs over the evergreens on the mountains.
A two-lane strip of asphalt separates those mountains from the outer edge of our neighborhood. Cold comfort, as another engine races by.
in a family’s fresh tears
blue jays in flight
more by FRANK J. TASSONE