Like red hot coals, the jewels glow in the night, they’re tucked into the tarmac in the rugged mountains spotted with evergreens.
the City in the valley has materialized, turnt to silver under the stars. Riverbeds dry up, caustic machinery acidifies the soil.
There is a dizzying flash of lucrative indigo, beneath the flashing crimson that signals take-off. An orange streak hangs in the distant horizon, above it an oppressive navy sky turning to night. The window across from me reflects something I’d imagine in a spaghetti Western, in the final moment of triumph when the hero declares himself victorious and all forces bow to him. He is the indomitable, conquerer of man and nature. Day is done, it retreats into faded pink and night falls, the mountains gray. It’s almost beautiful, but it’s burning. It's smoldering. A quiet fire, is it even burning if none care to witness it?