February in Napa Valley

Track marks of char

line hilltops

singed of evergreen,

the fire’s path

a blackened trail of breadcrumbs.

Vultures perch on a redwood fence

taking orderly turns

ripping flesh

from roadkill skunk,

his noxious fumes

floating miles

down canyon,

an aromatic middle finger

to his fate.

Yerba Buena mint

and rosemary flowers

bask in February light;

blankets of mustard

woven through a loom

of vineyards

shimmer and hum and buzz

with honeybees

dusted in winter.