A child again, I crunch along the graveled road,
Mountains blue in the distance, trudging
Past the cottonwood tree where the great owls
Make their nest, to the rough timber bridge
Bleached white in the sun over trout-haunted
Waters banked with old snow.
I stand and watch the film of ice shatter
Silent in the morning sun, drifting away,
Heading for some distant sea
It will never reach.
My steps thunder hollow across the bridge,
Echo from the water below,
And I am transformed!
Ten feet tall with a tree for a cudgel,
And the owlets are dandelion dragons,
The drifting ice long ages of melting,
Sun fire destroying glacial snow mountains,
Canyoning torrents filled with jeweled serpents.
My book bag full of wonders I wander
An enchanted highway paved with glittering gems,
Bordered with trees of silver,
Until the big yellow schoolbus grinds
To a stop and I board, re-entering the world
Of form and formula, of rulers and of rules.
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
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