prairies. marshes. forests.
prairies.
I walked a lonesome prairie
hills passing under feet
dogs running hard til weary
for birds we’d come to seek.
no lines were straight around me
but the barrel of my gun
because the prairie’s printed with stories
always ancient and changing ones.
small gatherings of water
where cattle come and graze
and before them came the deer,
i saw one bound away.
where wind is freely blowing
because there’s nothing in the way
and every plant and creature knowing
a human has come to visit, she certainly won’t stay
where cattle bones are bleaching
under September sun
and it’s sharptail grouse we’re seeking
even if it’s only one
but if they should outsmart me,
and surely I know they could,
i still will feel so grateful
for the walk alone was good.
marshes.
I sit in quiet darkness
around me cattails sway
they make a reedy fortress
where I could sit all day.
a quick and shivered movement
to shake a chilly bone
the sun has yet to rise,
where I will be her student,
and let her warm me to my soul.
it smells of icy water
and mud beneath my boots
out here the world is so much calmer
as I feel my body taking roots.
the skies turn baby blue
and share silhouettes against horizon
that make the grip around my barrel tighten
and my heartbeats pick up a few.
the world is slowly waking
and stirring all about,
the darkness now is fading
and flocks are taking route.
and then the moment happens
the sunrise breaks free and shines
my soul is warm and imagines
i have melted into the marsh,
it happens every time.
forests.
I dream of forests
mid abscission, some leaves barely hanging on,
and when the sun shines on them
casting bright yellow colors on the ground,
I feel a sense of warmth, like somehow I belong.
I walk quietly in wonder
weaving my barrel between popples,
a dog bell tinkering off yonder
echoing off tall and mighty pines.
I can smell the dried up leaves
like confetti on the ground,
as they moisten between each footstep
and return a quiet sound.
a person walks before me
a stranger or a friend
it’s hard to tell because I know him,
but out here we transform
to creatures of our own mind and wonder
while between popples we twist and bend.
and when we return to camp,
sun setting in the sky,
the moonrise makes the fire glitter
the forest, moody dark,
and I still feel just as warm,
though I can hardly wait to wake again
and return to where I belong,
and return to where I belong.
