Tag: take a walk

The Wind and the Woods

The highland winds howl through the valley,
rattling the windows of our house on the hill,
shaking and bending the world at their will,
as the Midwestern in me braces for a storm.

Intense and unforgiving. Possibly spinning.
I feel my body – tense and taut –
preparing for the worst with each swollen gust.
But this is just spring in the southwest.

Pacing through the house, anxious to move,
or for everything to stop,
the dogs and I head out for our walk.
Prepared for a fight against the wind’s tough talk.

Outside I find more bark than bite
the winds are strong, but warmed by the high desert’s light
Layers are shed as we head to where the pronghorn graze
and the sweeping winds blow songs across the tall grass.

Downwind of us and warned,
the herd has up and gone,
prompting me to turn against the unrelenting gusts
and start the journey home again.

Past fuzzy Cholla and Prickly Pear lurking in the grass,
nipping at the paws of distracted dogs
drunk with newly moistened worlds in their noses.
Noses lifting and twirling with the breezes.

But oh the smells, rebirthed by frugal spring rains;
appearing and disappearing, for the cloudless air is always shifting,
enlivening everything, including my spirits,
with its transient sweetness.

Wandering up the hill toward home into the dark of the grey-green pines,
a Great Horned Owl lifts off a nearby branch.
One grand flap of her powerful wings, and then, a silent shadow
moving up the hill to a low limbed Juniper, heavy with slate blue berries.

I follow quietly, passing the fallen remains of a pine long dead,
which looks like an old skeleton without a head.
Hidden in the shadows of the boughs, the owl waits.
Only taking flight again when she is in my sight.

It’s then I start to wonder, who’s taking more delight
in this hide and seek game in the wind and the woods.

I can feel her watching us move up the hill.
And in the still, our eyes finally meet, albeit brief,
before she spreads her broad, stealth wings
and disappears above the trees and tailings of an old pit mine.

We hear a raucous raven at the top of the tree
where I hoped the Great Horned Owl would be.
But the owl is already on the go, into the blow, and out of sight.
Though I very much doubt we’re out of hers.

Unleashing the dogs as home comes in view
Nellie’s off in a flash on her reptile pursuit.
Zigging and zagging, but never succeeding.
(I think she’s just teasing.)

I shout her name, but it’s squandered in the gusts.
so I lose myself in the wind’s white-noise
and pressing my self against its hilltop strength,
find my peace and place in it again.

One Square Mile

We’d been in Prescott several months

before I felt quite brave enough

to wander a mile of state trust land

neighboring our windy, new hillside home.

Raised in the Midwest, it was like another world

harsh and barren – and continuously warned

of giant spiders and big mountain cats,

poisonous snakes and thieving rats.

Instead, I learned of high dessert ways,

where life and death are on display.

In each cow for slaughter in the shade of a pine;

in the shy, white blossoms of the desert moon vine;

which shun the sun all summer long,

closing their beauty to everyone.

Then as the gentle night unfolds,

so does each petal, bright and bold.

And fleeting.

In every piece of a recent kill,

neatly picked clean from above and below,

until nothing remains but an armful of bones

to bleach and decay in the perennial sun.

Each time I’ve wandered this rolling terrain,

it has begged more questions and felt more sane;

and given me moments I’ll relive again

with a broad, happy smile for all that’s been.

Of days making circles within this wild square,

with the weight of the world or nary a care;

the moment the dogs and I walked up a hill,

where a herd of pronghorn stood scattered and still.

Two dozen, or so, at rest and at play.

Not bothered enough to run away.

Even as the dogs whined and pulled at their leashes,

they just raised their heads, and I stood speechless.

With earthy colors of white, black and wheat,

small groups spread out, but young close to teat.

Watching us.

Watching them.

Feeling the ache of the dogs in my arms,

and wanting to keep all present from harm,

I called for calm and aimed for home,

turning my pack from the wondrous tableau.

We hadn’t gone far when I felt the ground shake.

The once placid herd was now wide awake.

The dogs were frantic. Nearly pulled off my feet.

I turned to see the herd and me just about to meet.

Digging in heels and holding on tight,

I stared to the eyes of the leader in sight.

With the herd right behind, and us just ahead,

it was up to this doe as to how this would end.

At the very last moment, the doe darted right,

followed close by her clan, who were now in full flight.

The spray from her hooves shot into my gape,

as we watched the herd and our narrow escape.

Just the other side of a short, fat tree

the pronghorn passed just feet away.

Turning with the herd, thus turning their keeper,

the dogs spun me round, so I dug my heels deeper.

But instead of the group going forward and gone,

the leader turned back from where they had come!

A dust cloud of pronghorns surrounded all sides.

Dogs yanking and whining and losing their minds.

All I can think is, “Keep anchored! Hang tight!”

And that no one was going to concede this wild sight.

For how could I make someone truly believe

that I was in the middle of a pronghorn stampede?

When the final white butt disappeared in the dust,

leaving us trembling, I laughed – as you must.

“Holy shit!”, I screamed out, again and again,

as I looked for my breath and steadied my friends.

We climbed the last hills of this special square mile,

to our tame, little world, where we’d rest a while

and dream of dust clouds.