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.

Sigh,

From my world to your heart,

Linda