car crash and unrelated poetry at the park

It has been a busy week. I feel like I’ve just been running from one thing to the next. Monday afternoon while Bryan was working, there was a terribly car accident just outside of the park. A guy driving and truck with a 5th wheel camper attached lost his brakes. That is not the road you want that to happen on. He got going at least 50mph on the curvy, steep road, and rain into a cliff. His truck flipped over and detached and the camper and truck erupted in flames. The first people to get reports of it were the prison crew (the new crew), so they rushed down there, ripped the propane tanks off the burning 5th wheel, and administered first aid. The driver was okay which is lucky because truck cab is pancaked. Bryan and another ranger had a big water tank in the back of a truck when it happened, so they were on call to put out the fire, after the guy’s ammunition stopped going off in the burning 5th wheel! Fire crews arrived and put it out and the man is okay. The road was shut down for hours on Monday, so Bry was late to get me and we couldn’t get back up the canyon, so we ate in town. When we did come back up around 8pm, they were just hauling away the burnt wreckage. It still smells like burnt stuff and cleaning solvents on that bend. Pretty wild, eh? Here is the news report.

Anyway, our car brakes were shot, rubbing metal on metal, so Tuesday, after a long weeking of waiting for the appointment, I finally brought it to the shop at 9am, biked from crazy Cerillos Road (imagine Miller Trunk Highway in Duluth) to campus, got dear Jess to drive me to pick it up between class and work, and then worked until 9. Whew.

Here is some park-inspired poetry from me and Bryan, respectively. Bryan’s is sad news from today at the park. We’ve been watching those mama and daddy birds wait for us to leave the shelter all summer, then fly in for feedings, and then zip out and wait.

Dirt
precariously perches
atop mountainsides.
Packed and flattened,
molecules merged
making one
single [track] trail.

Bootsoles
flat flip-flopped feet
rubber moons
grasp, press, release
a million times over,
so singletrack stays.

There.
On mountainsides
urging release,
it stays.
Waits.
Holds us here.
As we hold it.

mlf

 

 

They made a nest
in the shelter,
a home high above
the cold concrete.

The place was carefully chosen;
protected from predators
and rain.

Was it the cackle of a crow?
The bark of a dog?
A breach in the nest wall?

Mouths open and
eyes never to be,
I swept them off the floor
and buried them together;
the young have no sense of space.

If one and one were four,
now there are none.
Mother continues her trips
between the BBQ grille and nest
not to find hungry mouths,
but because she doesn’t know what to do.

bjf

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