Upon the ridge between
Ragle and Live Oak Canyons,
a mile or more three miles away,
sun and moon seasons slide
Solstice to Solstice
when there is no way
to measure time exactly—
days without names
beginning behind
a different tree
to diffuse the light
for a moment
and I am blind, lost to this world,
refreshed—each new day
sliding between the canyons.
drycrikjournal 