Distant Fire

This morning the southern forest fires were reflected in my rainy sunrise.
The grey sky was filled with a color that shouldn't have been there.   

I thought, for a moment, 
that it might be the end of the world.

I ran out to meet the startling orange,
down to the sea.  
My sandals flopped against the cement. 
The rain continued to fall,
the prim drops landing demurely on my nose.  
By the time I had reached my destination, 
the orange had dissipated. 

It left behind
a muted, mutilated gold,
an exquisite brown,
a yellow, that was not quite yellow.