There is no need to measure time
in prolonged moments of routine—
old hands remembering rope and rein
at Mankins Flat, branding calves,
a porch of land open to the Kaweah
peaks, bared granite teeth cutting sky.
Earl with another twenty stories
etched I’ve never heard before,
our history in his head, all the forgotten
characters and landmarks removed
with horses, dogs and trees—
Onus Brown with Brewer looking down
upon the Valley across to the Coast Range.
Some call this work, menial and mundane
in this un-commonplace they’ll never be.
drycrikjournal 