Gasoline makes game scarce.
– William Stafford (“From the Move to California”)
A honk in the dark under clouds,
a lost goose circles the canyon’s walls
as it listens for an answer,
as I listen to the creek
rush instead of gurgle
since the rain.
Turkeys gobble over the rise
I cannot see, pausing like tree frogs
to join the chorus.
Not a car on the road
with headlights dancing
between posts and barbed wire—
there are no bounds to the black,
no interruption to the sounds
as if we and our machines
have abandoned this canyon
to its own devices.
Thanks for this eloquent glimpse of your world. Glad to hear that rain is part of that world again. Love to you and Robbin.
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Thanks, Meg. Staying out of town is easy. Learning the new rules is not. Spring has arrived after coughs and spurts, this part of the world is fine for a little while. Another rain on its way.
A vastly different view from the other side of the wire and how many envy your eyes.