California’s Big Sun Country

Tending their own blaze
Firefighters struggle to see through the haze
As I look at the scrub lined gorges
Rough & hard as if hand hewn out of a smithy’s forges
Studded on ancient slopes the trees could be older than Christianity
To try to climb them would seem to be insanity
Sun shines on smooth summer waves
At the sparkles that dance across them you could forever gaze
An old man says look at this place in the last day’s light
I did in the fading twilight

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