THE LITTLE I REMEMBER
Cumulus clouds cross the sun while the sky fights to stay blue.
Spring stomps her feet impatient to be seen,
But winter simply laughs and adjusts the wind which
Deeds the day to instability and change.
March...and our snow hangs on like a tenacious pit bull.
Whatever is delaying spring rides high on Arctic currents
Which can't be controlled or explained
But CAN be felt in these arthritic creaking bones.
It is early morning and I'm winding my way down
A ribbon of highway leading to Bear Lake.
Humanity has thinned like a balding senior and
My thoughts are all that accompany the silence.
I was just remembering the horse-centered cultures
Of nomadic Indians who thought it not strange to see these
Mountains capped with snow even in mid-July,
With their resonant synthesis of intent and discovery.
History for me becomes the dark side of the mountain
As great cloud-utopias burn out the west,
And the past becomes inevitable now that I call
The little I remember of it...''the past.''
~~
Written for Jeri's Any Form Goes challenge
Phrase: A ribbon of highway
Form: Free Verse
~~
By Sharon Peeples
© 2008 Sharon Peeples
(All rights reserved)
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