Burning twin Valley Oaks
gone dead in the drought,
undermined by the creek—
four-foot trunks
of smoking coals
two or three centuries old
stirred with the skid steer
three times a day
religiously
have left a hole
in my tangled world
across the creek
I cannot replace:
timelessness trapped
in mottled shadows
embracing me
each time I passed
beneath them.
* Really “DAY THREE”, (today is Saturday, not Sunday). Excused from Jury Duty, I lit the fire Thursday morning after Erik Avila pulled the trees out of the creek with an excavator for Kaweah Delta Water Conservation District on Wednesday.
The ranchy part of this common confusion for us is that we’re busy, we work at something everyday, doing pretty much what we want—no “hump days” with weekdays and weekends pretty much the same, we tend to lose track of what the name of today is. That’s my story and I’m stickin to it.
Your making me sad, John!
I just came upon a great author. John Larison, “Whiskey When We’re Dry”. Maybe your familiar, I thoroughly enjoyed him.
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I’ll check it out, Linda.
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