Aspen Misc.: A poem for the Lake Christine Fire, and super softball players in Basalt
Special to The Aspen Times
Emerging, tinged with caustic and merciless anger, encouraged by the wind, rampaging and undiminished, flames dwarf the stars while the night is emblazoned by
the heart of the fire.
A slice of sky, lit up like fireworks on a July 4th night.
Savage beauty from a distance, startling and ravenous up close, causing visceral fright and awestruck worry, this is
the heart of the fire.
Roiling on, with no regard for what lies in its path, remorseless with power, relentless with rage, the inferno fostering and fomenting untold mayhem, intensifies at
the heart of the fire.
While popping and groaning, creaking and whistling, with a voice of its own, distinctive, destructive,
The conflagration moves with remarkable speed, and is
the heart of the fire.
Eons old lava rock, dusted by whipping winds, cascading with ash and prayers and hope
That all would not be consumed and given up to
the heart of the fire.
Whirlibirds, flaming timber poles, fallen wires and ditches dug, puzzling the forest creatures rousted from their sleep
That night, fleeing with honed inherent instinct, from
the heart of the fire.
Searing images of plumes, blazing tongues and mercurial colors; heat as intense as in a kiln, alive as a dragon
Awakened in anger, spitting and spewing from its
heart of fire.
Parched swales appear, dusted with rust and puce, and the colors of the night. Forever changed,
A landscape marred and charred and darkened by
the heart of the fire.
Brittle as raw nerves, ancient juniper and pinions implore the sky for a salvaging and healing rain.
Ash settled, dust rising, heat shimmering, loss evident at
the heart of the fire.
Between whole and gone, the scourged hillsides and
Verdant forest features are lost to time; and woodland homes, baptized in flame, do not remain unscathed by
the heart of the fire.
And the osprey watches and wonders what happened. Through the haze, the veil of smoke lingering, pungent and heavy, will be an ongoing reminder of
the heart of the fire.
Those who observe and wait are stunned and stilled and subdued By this growing force; frozen with fear despite the heat,
Even as those who are saviors follow their calling, headlong into
the heart of the fire.
Imperiling and testing responders, leaving only seconds for action, rushing walls of flame and sparks spar with homes and lawns and walls, creating a place of despair, of searing desolation, at
the heart of the fire.
At last the dawn comes, stuttering and muted, yet hopeful, heralding a hazy blue sky and daylight undeterred, though scorched and scarred, scented and tinged by
the heart of the fire.
Then from the gloom and the grime and the burning embers, apparitions emerge, sooty and smoky as a campfire in winter, having seen the apocalypse and confronted the demons at
the heart of the fire.
The breeze cools for a moment; hope rushes in, fades, then reconstitutes, and even as smoke billows and cars flee, relief is profuse that
These warriors held the lines, when all seemed lost, with their unweilding.
This poem was submitted by Heather G. H. Dresser of Carbondale.
How a 1994 settlement determines what landlords charge Centennial tenants today
Tenants at the city’s oldest deed-restricted housing complex, Centennial Apartments, faced rent hikes as high as 30% in January that sent city, county, and APCHA officials into closed-door meetings with the relatively new landlord, Birge & Held.
