Listen to the wind – the land has tales to share:
The gray clouds and passing birds
The softness of the deer’s ear (trapped in time: death)
The storms gather over the black sage desert and sweep to the high hills
Gone are the roving tribes of yesterday
Replaced with towns and farms
Stories told by roll of hill and the wind’s wild vibratos,
Echoed by the magpie’s chatter and the crow’s caw
New roads scar the land and hold it down
Who are we to trap the land?
Note: I posted a draft of this poem a few weeks ago.