Clouds of Smoke

I am one of those people who is very sad to see field burning come to an end in agricultural history....at least here in the Willamette Valley. I grew up with its excitement. I love the smell. And, it is way better for the environment than all the chemicals farmers will now be forced to put into the soil to produce pure seed.



Actually, field burning is quite good when it comes to going green. The Native Indians in the Willamette Valley were the first to clear and clean through grass burning practices.



But, this entry is not supposed to be political, merely nostalgic. Last week I made my sons notice the plumes of smoke for the last time. I wanted them to have a foggy memory of this practice. Next year all field burning will cease on the flat, southern Valley.



I am not a poet, but I did attempt to do so with this topic.

Clouds of Smoke

The black smoke rises while
The flood of flames create rhythmic movements.

A man on the water truck,
Around the field he goes.

Into the Ark, the house,
We take all our pets.

Waiting inside...
The excitement builds.

Then it's done.
Black patches scatter the Valley.

The smell of burnt earth...
The field's cycle begins again.