A single pod of seeds, the bare
redbud volunteer, come spring,
will obscure my view of the road;
the world beyond this black morning—
beyond the owl in the oaks above me;
the cobbled mumbles of the creek.
With the hillside chorus of coyotes
and canyon’s replies, the ridgeline
holds-up heaven’s brilliance
in a sky of stars—unabashed
and unafraid of any circumstance
that may engulf us all.
drycrikjournal 
So many evocative images. Perhaps I’m wilfully blind but I sense tentative hope. Regardless, gorgeous poem, John.
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Thanks, Susanne, for the feedback on this poem I’m still trying to digest: something larger, greater than any of us, a certainty that something will survive.
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The cobbled mumbles of the creek !
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