30 Aug Back 40: Our Charge
The air is cool and a breeze pushes
from the north, the depth of blue clouds
pierces my attention between flashes of light.
Moisture lingers heavy and refreshing
as the storm drags across bare mountain peaks
just beyond our reach.
One can almost hear the grass
calling for rain, a song
carried quietly by the wind.
There won’t be a deluge here
as the weather moves south,
twenty miles off and thirty days late.
calling for their mothers
so they can get their evening fill.
But the grass is greener
on the other side of the hill and grazing
others don’t always budge for crying young.
The coyote yips,
four sound like twenty,
backup vocals to this natural symphony.
It’s all so simple
when looking at wrapped
beauty in everyday existence.
We awake every morning
in unison with the earth,
she is our partner and we are her diplomats.
We create through her,
we produce from her means of being,
this is our charge.
Nothing is being tricked,
no confusing politics to unravel,
no angry men yelling about fabricated realities;
just the sound of grass heads tickling one another
and wind singing through cracked windows
and the bullfrogs croaking chorus every night
and a radiance of life in every step.
Our appreciation transcends
it is the carvings of identity
engraved into our history,
it is a love above all else.