the grey against the blue sky,
metal bars,
power coursing,
it pokes high above the horizon,
tall,
mighty,
human,
nova scotia's hills don't rise up nearly as far,
flat in all directions,
textureless, and
so, so wide,
large trucks drive beside the tower,
small,
pathetic,
A bigger truck comes by, washed in red,
loud,
bright,
blaring,
the smell of smoke upon the suits of the
brave,
the daring,
the big, blue, cloud-filled, wonderful sky,
blue no longer,
their hope,
lost in minutes,
no death, yet so much smoke,
smoke,
like the swirl of sand in water,
the water sitting near the strong metal bars,
the telephone tower,
still tall and mighty,
the water with the highest tides in the world,
rippling hard,
against the rocks on shore,
orange buoys float roughly in the harbour,
a line to never,
ever cross,
kids will boat out there with their paddles,
the breeze knocking them,
side,
to side,
and the world breathes in, for it holds all,
good or bad,
and it is full,
full despite everything.
i was spending my lunch in a gazebo by the water when a fire started in a building in the next street over. such a beautiful day, too beautiful something had to be taken away.
