Some people called us Forest Rangers,
though really, we were the lowest GS
in the USFS. Not the highest tower either,
certainly not as tall as a skyscraper,
but at three stories, 45’ Corral Hill’s cabin
was high enough that our heads were
in the clouds on late summer days.
When socked in, I made bread from
the sourdough starter Mrs. Bayes gave
us. It lofted like a sail at 6,000.’ On other
days, thunderheads spread across
the prairie like a coming gale. On those
days, we watched the prairie like hawks.
On the tower, we were often scared, lonely,
or stir crazed. We’d been struck once,
which frightened us badly, and some storms
were much more dangerous than the
cumulonimbus cloud we’d been hit by,
which made us sensible to fear for our lives.
Like snippets from a adventure/explorer movie. Poetry that unfolds a story.