Photo: Neal Lett
We live too low, too far down
the mountain to hear
the Canyon Wren sing
for the joy of it, cascade
of octaves, grin in the cedars,
thunder of the river dim.
Our love affair with music
is our own, separate
secrets searching for a song
somewhere on the mountain—
finding harmony among the pines.
Four straight nights of family making music. Grandpa’s done!
(Photos: Neal Lett, brother Todd’s daughter Katy’s husband, OMG!)
A light caress reminder
after a long time gone,
slow wet promises of more—
of fidelity we believe
as if she never left,
our flesh blooms green.
Christmas fell in 2015
to fill four nights rejoicing,
strings and voices rising
to greet the gentle rain—
four dry years forgotten.
We’ll never be the same.
“listen to that music.
The self we hold so dear will soon be gone.”
– Gary Snyder (“Anger, Cattle and Achilles”)
I’ve packed a rifle since I was ten
following cow trails in these hills
listening to music: the Red Tail’s cry,
its feathers rush overhead,
plummeting for fun—a calling
to another life without accouterments.
In time, we collect clear moments
of ourselves, fresh glimpses stamped
and saved that weigh nothing, cost
nothing, yet live behind our eyes.
No word for the first murmur
of a cow to its wobbly, wet calf
forever branded in our brains—
no word for the outside music
played with poetry and song.
Weekly Photo Challenge (1): “Careful” / “Full of Care”