Skies like these are a distant memory, anymore
This is what our skies look like
Most of the time…smoke sinking into each and everything
Sometimes a tad worse than other times
Once in a while, a slight breeze lightens the smoke
But, more often than not, the sun is stained dazzlingly red, red, red
As it sinks below the edge of the Uncompahgre Plateau.
We so need rain.
As does every place else in the dry, combusting west.
From my world to your heart,