Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Before the Storm

There is a quiet I remember
from early child hood.

Alone in the horse pasture.

Dark mountains loomed
at the edge of the sky,
sentinels of time
watching over me.

Sun baked the dirt to fine dust
warmed my skin to soft brown
tinged my dark hair golden.

Cottonwoods murmured
leaves clinking
like shell chimes,
the sharp cry of magpies
accentuated stillness.

The peace of the earth
seeped in through my feet,
my mind stretched out
beyond the limits of sky.

I played
in sync with the world
suspended
without worry or thought
my breath
in easy beat with the day.

In the distance, the rolling of thunder.

Black clouds amassed
at the edge of the plain
too far to stir the dust at my feet
too distant to lift the hair from my brow.

Cocooned in silence
I sat
in the peace
that is greatest
before the storm.