Riding the High Country as a boy,
I fished snowmelt lakes
beneath sharp peaks of scree,
found clarity around a fire,
played dot-to-dot with stars,
and dreamed on hard ground
that I’d awake unscathed,
but for my craving for space
beyond the hand of man.
A lifetime addiction,
betting on the weather
and a herd of cows grazing
foothills below, we wager
borrowed money, but don’t know
how to quit gambling
with the market and the politics
this close to heaven—we’ll
role the dice until we’re gone.
drycrikjournal 
Never apologize for this addiction, John! It is a noble calling that you have; one of the best! (And – sometimes – a good way to outwit the tax man!) Up the hill, my Friend!
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