(The mountains south of Taos, NM)

Burn Site
It is winter
I sort through the ashes of my life
Remember the storms past
And yet…I remain

All is quiet
Waiting with expectation
Each day a short climb
Bundles of ideas in every corner
Thunderbolts light the landscape in all directions

You bring joy to me
Trapped in the desert
Where all is dry, nothing damp
We are but husks of our former selves
Rustle like dry stalks in the corn fields
Sounds heard in hot summer wind
I might be shook up by this thought
Were it not true

9 thoughts on “September 22, 2012 Sunday Whirl Wordle #75

    1. The first half of my life was on the sea side, I didn’t know how to “really” appreciate the lushness of life where land and sea met. It seemed the “flatness” of the coastal land and sky was oppressive to me. Now I am in the desert — a dry, hard, austere way of life for man and animals. I have learned to appreciate small things. Thanks for your comments. Annell Livingston HC 74 Box 21860 El Prado, NM 87529

      annell@taosnet.com http://www.annelllivingston.com http://www.somethingsithinkabout-annell-annell.blogspot.com https://annellannell.wordpress.com

  1. I like the effects of aging you capture so well in the words: We are but husks of our former selves Rustle like dry stalks in the corn fields. I hear it, see it, feel it in this poem. Your love of your environment is so clear. I liked this piece.

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