I can’t hear birds for leaves churning
Aspen leaves spark skyward orange and gold
flashing crazy into the blinding thin air
as if a mountain god had thrashed his forge
All through snow season
ravens will circle the frozen meadow
as if this moment never happened,
as if I never stood here to witness the wind
strip branches white in just a few seconds
By tonight the stars will be silver,
the meadow so still no one will believe
what I saw