A massive river creeps in lowland morning slow in orange haze the sun a disc of red in Mississippi murky morning and folks don’t think it strange when summer follows rain But for those swollen bushes briars, brambles, weeds over-watered, drying fast on San Gabriel Mountain slopes summer’s answer comes there too in hot pink evenings orange nighttime ridges lovely in the glow of firestorm annoying with the mess of ash in morning yellow murk and bloody unfamiliar sun We’ll not talk of ebb or flow or weather’s common passage but of strange and undeserved events of portent and of blame