Down feathers of cirrus clouds curl in the evening-blue sky crossed with black power lines. Behind the cypress and eucalyptus, the blood-orange sun melts into the Pacific, spilling its juice into the clouds. Cold evening rises from the roots of blue eucalyptus stands as a mist of moist earth and menthol. The forest flattens into hazed-over purple. Coastal redwoods become autumn-blooming heather: a spiky silhouette against the fading sky. When the first headlights flash through the trees, snaking down the forested hills, the old sun’s blood still pulses in the last clouds.
First published in Residual Heat under my pseudonym Aga Black.