It's Amazing How Inspiration Strikes

“See”

witness

random shocks of purple

poking from the rocks, splashes of red

and yellow fire-petals providing relief

for the variations of brown on gray stone,

green on gray scrub;

splotches of rusty lichen speckling

the landscape, spattered patches of life

dropped from god’s paintbrush

inhale

a breath of bitter sage and dust

with a dryness—pine-sweet tinge—

a touch of storm on the horizon

note

the flicker of tails darting in,

tongues darting out of crevices,

the flirtatious tit-twit-chitter of a chipmunk,

curious why any creature would

dare the daytime

dried as the water paths carved

both deep and superficial into the features

of the Earth’s face

hear

life breezes whisper secrets

of the tempest

lurking, festering behind the impenetrable cliffs

overcome

after years of lightning strikes

and wildfire wounds, like the wilderness

regrows, resprouts—sprigs of faith and endurance—

I, too, refresh,

exhale, releasing outward, taking notice

of the desert’s solidarity,

its struggle,

its beauty

reflect

on winding trails, trials spiraling tighter,

leading my dusty steps higher until I work out

the rock lodged between my heel and

           

my soul

I penned bits and pieces of this poem (30 May 17) as I hiked along a trail in Fremont Indian State Park with a group of amazing, adventurous young women, including one of my own daughters. I lagged behind not because I am fat and old but to make a few observations that most of the girls and other leaders missed. The next day, I pieced the words together sitting in a camp chair waiting for them to return from rafting a portion of the Sevier River. It wasn't until several weeks later that I was able to puzzle out the format.