Renée Owen
Sebastopol, California, USA

It Hardly Computes

Beneath dark clouds, electric strips of sunset smear across the smoke-filled sky. A quarter moon dips in and out of view, along with Venus’ bright light and pale Mars. Along the Sonoma coast, the roar of crashing waves and counter note of frogs, thousands in unison, from the curve of the creek and marsh below. High-pitched cries of a hawk punctuate the night sounds. Then four loud, guttural screeches, like a small death.

after the firestorm
searching for new shoots
of anything green