It’s hell to be human
and a joy, as well
depending on poetry
to start your engines.
“Great day for the race!”
my father used to say
as the sun brought
the Kaweahs together
on a flat stream of light
from Sierra peaks
to a crooked string
of cottonwoods
at the bottom
of the watershed,
slow river steaming—
everything was new
and old at once:
that moment.
drycrikjournal 
This one’s a beauty, John. How often I feel the impact and import of that last stanza.
Should “What day for the race!” be “What a day for the race!”?
Happy Holidays to you and the family. All we want for Christmas is a about 5″ of rain spread gently over a week or so.
🙂
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Thanks, Laurie. Fortunately Robbin caught the typo early a.m. Merry Christmas to you and Greg. (still editing…)
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Loved it! Transported me to sitting on a stump under an ol’ oak…watching…listening….one with God and nature
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