Half a mountain slipped away
to move the river south, left
alluvium of clay and granite rock—
a good spring in a steep draw
collecting stories at a pause
with brittle bones and rattlesnakes
for spice—half a century saved
to hunt and wander from the flats,
to ride to gather heifers with my father,
all the alliterative murmurs
that damned me and God
when the wind is almost right.
Half a mountain slipped away
to gather by myself, holding
highlights of the boy I used to be.
Weekly Photo Challenge: ‘Nostalgia’
drycrikjournal 
Great visuals in your poem. I really enjoyed it and the fabulous photo.
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How nice! Thank you kindly.
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Love the last verse.
janet
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Thank you, Janet. I had choices but stuck with this one.
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Love the ability you have to coax the mind from the here and now to the past and back again.
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Thank you, Richard. It’s not as difficult as you might imagine when one’s life history is right before our eyes. It’s when we change our landscapes that our memories and our culture, whatever they may be, are eventually lost. Naturally, I like to see this nation focus less on growth and development and more on maintenance and sustainability to drive our economy because we need diverse perspectives to more clearly see where we’re headed.
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Fabulous imagery! Isn’t it incredible how the mind stores even our earliest memories and brings them back to us in the light of a single solitary place. Always love reading your poetry and looking at the hills through your eyes!
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Thanks so much, Peter. For me it’s the landmarks that trigger the stories, incredible that they can be so important to us and bank so much history, adding a rich perspective to our brief moment on this planet.
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