Mountain Airs
(Bighorn, Wyoming)

In this hour of silence
twilight seeps through tree tops.
Mosquitoes whine in harmony
with the wind, pine sap scent mixing
with repellent.

Breezes hum through tall tapers
barely budge the mountain lupins,
purple splotches against greenery.
Pine cones spew seeds all over
the frayed red-brown carpet.

Woodpeckers rap their rhythm and
squirrels chatter like snare drums,
exchanging ciphered warnings.

Velvet wine bathes my taste buds
and I save a moment’s thought
for the gnats in my cup,
floating on the Malbec sea.

Too close, gun shots pierce
the calm and remind me
the west’s still being won as
ATV cowboys ride up the trail,
drowning the forest’s psalms.

More about Anca Segall:
Anca Segall is a microbiologist on the faculty of San Diego State University. She is a traveling nerd, avid reader, lover of single malt scotches, and a newcomer to creative writing. Her poetry has been published in The Coachella Review and The Icarus Anthology, and her narrative nonfiction piece “The Deaf Icon” was published in Open Thought Vortex.