Their tiny blight seemed mountainous when I started my car after work in Coeur d’Alene, knew it might explode.

                             

I didn't know who they were and perhaps I called some of them friend, my last name often misunderstood.

 

Billowing hate covered their inner sky and filled it with dark brooding clouds that knew no understanding.

 

Now, years later, I'm visiting. Last night’s Perseid meteor showers were tiny white messengers across the vast blackness of sky where I slept under the stars.

 

The long gone Aryan Nations blustered here like mustard gas but were forced away by blunders they made when they felt invincible.

 

I hope that the reflection of them in minions of mindlessness raging across the county don’t rise from compost and grow bigger, as if no one has learned.