_{This piece was originally published in November 2021 on MaidenMagazine.com}.

There’s a meadowlark in the marigolds

Its speckled feathers caress the petals

Tinged in the yellow fabric of sunlight

Doused in the burning orange of its heat

The August fires light the mountainside

And the smoke haunts in heaps

The sky is slate and the hills a ring of flame 

As the meadowlark observes unfazed

There are marigolds in the moonlight

Gleaming in the waning crescent 

Parched but radiant still

For the spirits convening under the sickle

There’s a meadowlark in the marigolds 

Warbling a tune to comfort 

All the flowers on fire as its feathers fall

In the same garden of burning orange 

Where it once was safe.