Snow Creek

Snow creek, camas creek
Creek of cottonwoods, place of rushing water

The snow has not come this year
Camas long vanished, the wheatfield bare
In the warm December rain

Cottonwood roots delve the
Height of a man, seeking water
And when the water table drops they die
And stand awhile tall and white 

Bleaching in the sun and the wind
The two forces before us
The two forces after us 
The two forces that will shape this land 
After wheatfields, after the towns

Already drying like tumbleweeds
As the wind loosens the root
Half empty as the people drift away
Or huddle playing cards in the only coffeeshop

Place of the wild geese
Place of good intentions
Where are your snows?
Where are your vanished camas?
Creek of drying cottonwoods, creek of silent waters.

Author: Duncan MacNae

Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees. duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com View all posts by Duncan MacNae