The Mountain Home Series: Wandering the Desert.
I look out now,
and it’s all browns around me -
Rocks, and Sand.
Rough, and Raw.
There is no softness here -
Nothing to ease the soul into believing
man might make some lasting impression
on this place.
The atmosphere reeks of Risk,
Of Riving -
Cleaving!
And the Land delivers on that Promise.
Shrieking Winds blast out of rock strewn Canyons,
Unforgiving gusts whose only purpose
is to recapture
all the Wildness that was lost
when man first appeared here -
chose to build here.
Earthquakes join the fray on occasion,
and shake the land -
pulling rocks up,
and mountains down.
Bear witness.
This may be a beautiful land,
but it ain’t pretty -
Does not intend to be.
It is Nature, newly formed -
With a Will, both wild and wanton,
One that would rather crush and rend,
than send any sort of message
that life outside its terms
can ever last.
It is...
So unlike my Home,
and yet here IS home.
And what was,
cannot be.
at least not -
For me.
