|
Western Traveler
by Marilyn Brodhurst
I drank water from age-defying springs
drenched in waves of western sun and
hot baths flowing from rock;
I walked in mystic footsteps of hunters and gatherers,
watching with them mule deer,
black-eared squirrels, and dashing jackrabbits.
I lay in the nourishing arms of pinions, junipers,
manzanita and scrub oak,
rainbowed in prickly pear, poppy, and palo verde;
I climbed honey-colored walls to dwellings
where children answered echoes,
wise men drew pictures, and women
tended young shoots in riparian valleys below.
I ran on soft, cool sand
washed from aged mountain heads,
blown across yucca studded fields,
gypsum white against cobalt sky;
I sang with finches and tanagers,
watched flickers peck holes in spiny saguaro,
basked with blue and yellow-bellied lizards,
heard hymns and war whoops in canyon wind,
whispering and howling of ancient truths and seared hearts.
I touched the inner life that called from cottonwoods
and barren land, alive in every rock,
clinging like orange-green lichen
to sturdy, solid faces;
I became drunk on the silence of space lingering
at my fingertips,
raptured in the joy of life,
and smiled with bliss on every face.
|
