November 7, 2015
I escaped the farm
as a backcountry packer
of mules, to the rhythm
of hooves and draw chains—
found my way lost in awe
yet branded in my mind.
There was another world—
girls in town to think about
up and down the Sierra’s spine,
Wolfman Jack on the transistor,
boss and soul, rock and roll
for company by the fire.
I called to faraway faces
over falling starlit peaks,
the granite scree glittering
into Tamarack timberlines
as I lay down each night
to dream on solid ground.
drycrikjournal 
I knew someone else that did the same thing on the east side of the mountain. How wonderful to have that in your memory.
Jealous.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Me, too, glad it’s still there!
LikeLike
We were young back then and sleeping on a desert floor was comfortable 0 not now!
LikeLike