Travelling

Sangre de Cristo

                I am glad I shall never be young without wild country to be young in.
                — Alda Leopold

Mustard yellow beckons forth

on the bough to greet this day

that is left for you.

Pines pepper lands lost

by unknown enemies, whose cries

echo in the breeze, binds fragrant hills,

vertically before

life’s youthful limbs.

Horizons blend as

all wilderness retreats

from nature’s sweaty palms.

            Weep,

            weep for me,

dear forests.

© Catherine Woods 2000, 2017