…leathery past-gone settlers
wait for a miracle.
– Red Shuttleworth (“Let Fall Soundless”)
The primitive hangs in dust boiling-over
our heads—a heavy coat of wild generations
ground fine-enough to be inhaled, ingested
again—we keep busy waiting for a change:
for rain, for grass to hold the past
in check. Become green feed, then seed.
Hay dust floats from the barn roof,
green haze of dry alfalfa leaf
sticks in the back of my throat
I can’t cough loose—through barbed wire
young cows count each bale
onto the truck, plead with babies.
Grit gathering in the corners of every eye,
hearts anesthetized, we think of them
as people, weigh the whole and wonder
if our tribe has been overlooked.
Behind us, plodding rises into the sky,
a prayer that begs to settle dust and despair.
drycrikjournal 
Hello John,
It’s been a long time, and much has happened, but I want to greet you and Robbin now and say that I’ve been so touched by your poetry, especially today’s. The earth and all beings are suffering in so many ways, including those of us living “in town”. I wish I could visit you but I’ve just had knee surgery so I’m not going anywhere for a while. Please send me your email address, as I wish to send you a poem I wrote today in response to yours of the last few days and weeks.
I want to also acknowledge the profound suffering you and those in your community are experiencing these days.
Warm regards to you and Robbin,
Nancy Spear
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Thanks Nancy, it’s been close to thirty years. Much has happened, much has changed. Though I may let our drought conditions invade my mind and poetry, we’re OK and will be fine. The heartbreak for any cattle person under these conditions is having to sell part, or all, of a herd of good cows that it has taken years, often lifetimes, to build. That building process is much more sophisticated than when I got out of school, and requiring more attention and investment, the cows become your life. Be well. I’ll send a separate email.
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Yes, the cows become your life, as well as the birds, flowers and other wildlife you live with. So natural, and I feel connected to these creatures and plants also, you may remember, so can imagine some of this process.
So this year marks twenty years since Hal’s death, and I remember and appreciate your engagement with him, student and teacher. Only within the past few years have I felt connected to the Ground of Being enough to feel I am on my own way now, with new understandings of childhood beginnings, toxic parental influences combined with love-the best they knew how, and these influences on an unconventional marriage. I have enjoyed your poetry and blog as you have explored some of these realms.
I love your and Robbin’s photography, and courage to share your life so openly. Oh, and one note: the beautiful photos labeled “Western Flycatcher”(don’t remember date) are actually of Western Kingbirds. Kingbirds are flycatcher family, but larger and less secretive than their cousins. Looking forward to more, and best to you both.
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Great sentiments of a hard time. Hopefully the next generation will read your musings in the future and think “Boy, they really had it rough back then”. Take care, Linda
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