Blunder Privileged

You know you’ve blundered into this.
Not everyone’s this privileged.
Every few years you’re still alive
And possessed of something to drive
You can drive down this scenic way
And take stock of still-alive life.

The way cuts through mountain forests
Where the woods grow patchwork from fires.
Every time you return to them,
You find another patch that’s burned.
You’ve been doing this long enough,
The route’s a succession sampler.

There are decades-old aspen stands,
Gold bouquets from pine skeletons,
Plus ferny wildflower floors
That aspens haven’t shaded yet.
And then there’s that patch of charcoal
Without weeds, cap-a-pie black crepe.

And through it all, you’re still alive,
So far, and live woods sprout from death,
But you can see how long it takes,
Every time you evaluate
What more life’s accomplished so far.
The only fast lives are the fires.