It is not care
nor compassion for the earth
that has nurtured generations
of all things
that drives the train
of speculation and suspicion.
High up in June,
the ground we gather
is still green and damp in places
crawling with baby bullfrogs,
bogs in the draws where streams
begin at the end of fingers
to join a canyon with a name
on some maps.
Microcosmic creation place
to feed a world where life
blooms before trickling down,
we harvest calves—big bulls
and thick-waisted heifers
because of rain—slick
ultra-naturals without a brand
or vaccination for the world
below.
There is no immunization
for the news that sells
and sells and sells…
it is not care
nor compassion for the earth
or for humanity
that drives the train.
drycrikjournal 
You are worried as am I. Everyone should be worried as the train of ignorance and lack of care for what fuels this planet runs over everything that keeps us going.
Your dark poem tells the truth but how to tell it to those that won’t listen.
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Noir, moi?
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Love how you captured the guy in Levi’s and white tennis shoes sitting on the green hill on the left, looking down at the lighter, browning valley.
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Microcosmic creation place, a canyon with a name!
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