We know the sound, feel it
pound our flesh, reverberate
in our skulls, draw sinew tight

to hold on—to the moment
fleeting, bucking, kicking loose
the last of common sense.

No ordinary ride in the park
upon watered lawns spaced
between pampered shade trees,

we recognize the scent
of rain on sudden gusts,
feel skin shrink, follicles lift

us up, and the sweet cud
swirling above bovine beds,
flat mats of grass awakening.

Not quite wild, we are captive
in a maze of weathered hills,
fractured rock and families

of oaks where shadows slip
and voices stalk—whisper one
more metaphor upon our lips.


6 responses to “THE RIDE

  1. Janice Gilbertson

    Wonderful, wonderful poem. Made my follicles lift up!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. How perfect the black and white photo to penetrate the meaning of your wonderful poem. The curved forms of light fracturing and flowing, high-lighting realities hidden within the clutter of color. Brilliant!

    Louise Jackson

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks, Louise. I don’t remember ever seeing a B&W photo of a rainbow. Most of us can’t give up the color, but I like the contrasts, especially the highlights. And there is that element of the unknown in the distance and what must surely be a pot of gold.


  3. Very nice.
    How is the measure on the rain gauge so far? Close to normal yet?


    • According to local pundits, we’re 150% of normal for this time of year. The ‘Weather Journal’ tab above will give you some comparisons and perspective.


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