Horizons close-in
with a slow rain,
infinity becomes
a short reach
over the ridge
into the gray.
We begin to think
like old oaks
on north slopes
awakening
to leaf and fruit
with moisture.
We’ve seen the creek
swell and disappear
for centuries,
the road flow
with carts, wagons,
pickups and goosenecks,
stream with Christians
and bright busloads bound
for glory and awe
in the distance. Unseen,
we are rooted just
where we want to be.
drycrikjournal 