Report from Driveway Butte

Some bully fist of smoke

has bruised the blue-eyed sky.

Twelve jumpers swing out of planes

cutting through sharp clouds of ash

into timid stands of tamarack

quivering in red-hot wind.

Young and tough, they trudge

across the blackened rock, dark as slag,

into heat that hugs the steep shale slope.

Their shovels bite deep grooves 

a hundred feet below

the wavering ridge.

Belief in some god, an honest wind,

or their next cold beer

hold the men steady

as flames rise and curve towards them.

Looks like this could be a big one.

Keep them in your prayers.