Wraps me in its cold cold grip
Barren are the trees
They call me
In quiet whispers
In hibernating animation
For the explosion
Of complete stillness
The sounds of clamoring birds and coyote.
Trees struggle against the wind.
What little heat that has been absorbed
Flies away, creating an uneasy updraft.
I love this little spot of water.
It used to be a seasonal river.
Utilized by natives and nature’s children.
Progress found it a good site.
For money making.
Sand pits. Dredged by machines.
Concrete mix, trucks and bulldozers.
And when it was time to leave it.
Someone said, “we’ll leave the lake intact”.
Dress it up with liquid amber and oak.
Eventually, it became a reserve.
Where humans are considered the intruder.
Stay on the trails.
Leave the coyote and cougar alone.
I hear those machines.
Like songs from above.
The silent sound of warriors hunting game.
Girls crushing seeds in rock depressions
They speak to me
These spirits of former days
I try my best