I like walking where the wind is rarely quiet
and the evening star glows brightly,
a consistent presence lying over the canyon
pushing the sun along, urging the moon
to follow its intense track like the creek now dusty
and disregarded until spring’s outburst of life.
Winter on the high plains is not an easy life
for anyone or thing or being driven mad by the quiet
whip of the wind as it crosses the plains flat and dusty
where only the aged mesquite blooming brightly
signals the end of winter, and the orbit of the spring moon
lights the crevices where the vulnerable hide in the canyon.
It’s fascinating to watch the snow fall in the canyon
covering flora and fauna alike with no regard of life
on varying scales of existence beneath the winter moon
crouching, hidden in crevices, waiting for the quiet
dampening the snow brings, where shadows brightly
dance against the landscape once dry and dusty.
I walk where the snow and the ground, still dusty,
wait for the drifts to descend the walls of the canyon.
Where the sun has long given way to sky brightly
lit by earth’s companion, a slumbering bath of life
flooding the floor of the canyon, hushed and quiet
like the foot of Neil Armstrong as it touched the moon.
In the crevice where the light from the full moon
has yet to reach the smallest of bobcats lying in his dusty
den, only his golden ocher eyes revealing his quiet
watch for an unsuspecting victim crossing the canyon.
In the depths of winter when the snow falls, life
is hidden or beneath ground, slumbering, dreaming brightly
Of warmer days and gentler nights where desires brightly
formed fill the arroyo with the sweetness of a summer moon
and aoudad sheep and diamondbacks hunt lesser life
themselves living on such as is hidden in the dusty
fissures of the Spanish Skirts high up walls of the canyon
their gray, yellow and lavender stone swishing in the quiet.
Imaginary dancers prance beneath a brightly shining moon,
their footsteps awaking the sleeping life from their dusty beds
and echoing the voices of long ago, now quiet, in the canyon.
Previously published in Creative Hearts, Path Publishing