Smoky Mountains on Fire

Red skies ignite The coy limbs of evening, Under the whispering pines; The flames dance, With shadowed whispers, Exulting in their sanguine spree. The shadow of fire Twists and swells Around us: It is the last weather, Last communion, and yet it renews, An act of nature, Life returns, Cleansed of its winter coat, Praise the glow of morning, now, The warm throats of woodpeckers, These gifts of flames convert, The ground so tender after the rain.

• Gary Snyder