
It’s been years since
we circled the section
of steep pasture between
the creek and Antelope Valley,
reading tracks and trading
memories of battling bucks—
the merge of gathers
spinning in a blur
of wild oats.
It’s how the ground reminds us
who we were and who we are
once again.






Love this poem. Thank you!
LikeLike
Thanks Meg, it just fell together.
LikeLike
Touches my heart, John.
janet
LikeLiked by 1 person