I made the migration for thirty years,
From Washington to California, alone…
Like all travelers before me,
Mt. Shasta welcomed us home.
This year there’s no Shasta welcome,
Appearing dead without any snow
The mountain appears bare naked,
No longer the vision we used to know.
I harbor an internal sense of doom,
The future’s foreign and all new…
Our world is rapidly changing,
Shown in every haunting preview.
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