"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art, for readers in 150 countries.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Poetry and The Canyon
Excerpts from my last trip:
The high cliffs and boulders
teach us something we need.
they are not in a hurry.
Life and time swirl around them and change comes in its own time.
We need to slow down and enjoy
the fossils and lichen on the rocks,
the crevices in the sandstone cliffs,
enjoying the texture of our skin.
They teach us that all our hurries
and our worries just don't amount to much.
What amounts to much
is how much time and joy
we spend exploring ...
The desert wind is cool on my back
as the sun droops.
My fire's heat creates a million universes.
We have a million universes
to be created by our heat.
A crow flies overhead, cawing
mocking me stuck on the ground.
The sunlight is climbing up the cliffs east of me
as the sun dips behind the western cliffs
The crows are gone
Soon will be the bats
And always the stars
as the campfire pops...
What "time" is it here?
How arrogant that we think we control time.
The only time zone is present tense.
The Anasazi are laughing