Star Valley

The first-day fire sputtered and coughed to life,

Smoking with rain-damp needles and muddy rocks,

Clinging to our dusty coats and

Grasping toward the sun.

Morning wind whispered through the ashes,

Tasting the backs of our necks,

Telling the trees we had come again,

Standing taller than the year before.

Night saw us stacking logs like a cabin,

Waiting for the flames to crawl home,

Watching as they rose in heedless glee,

Dancing together in the darkness.

Dawn returned like a secret guest,

Slipping cold air under our covers,

Sending us to huddle around the pit,

Heating our outstretched palms.

Afternoon embers lingered as we went to the lake,

Trekking along flowered hills,

Coming to stand beneath the eagle tree,

Marveling as he cried and dove once more.

Evening drew its curtains closed,

Bringing us back to a gentler flame,

Drifting up in drowsy sparks,

Shining like the stars overhead.

Midnight came with glowing coals,

Resting amid our unbroken circle,

Listening as we told the same stories,

Humming to our familiar songs.

The last-day fire stretched soft golden arms,

Kissing our cheeks in warm farewell,

Settling down beneath mountain-rich earth,

Sleeping in a clearing we would never see again.