Kendra Nuttall The Day the Mountains Disappear My dog whines at the door, waiting to sunbathe on the balcony as she does every day. Every day the sky chokes on smoke from long-distance fires the wind can’t break up with. It’s wild, how the mountains still open their arms to gather the sun anyway, reaching through the smog for one last embrace. I can almost imagine the gasp, great Rockies drowning in gray, praying for the wind to move on again.
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