Gathering once again for morning prayer,
as they usually do,
a pair of birds touch down
weary and worn for quite awhile
hanging on for life in the weeping haze
under shadow of lush limbs lending
a soft place to land.

Narily escaping with outstretched wings
this canyon’s blaze
they sing harmoniously in homage to survival,
flights without fancy
and close call stories
in their celebratory song.

Stirring up stillness
of the crackling duff below
critters hidden but heard
among the canyon’s canopy
of deep velvet green
gratefully nibble on nearby bramble and brush.

With watchful eye
a lone doe
alongside her spotted fawn
steps gently
along the craggy trail
snapping branches brittle below hoof
snacking on nearly ripe blackberries
tugging between the thorns
as once smokey skies now
bloom into an orange julius dawn.

Trees gather humbled
together in communion
on the ancient valley floor
still stand tall and proud
resilient to the surrounding fury
that raged for days on end
grateful now just to
maintain stance among embers;
Ashes, ashes we won’t fall down.