Cabin Flats  8/28/16

Cumulous clouds were dry heaving rust

      and spittle on parched earth

As we climbed Bradley Fork; serotinal

Threatening yet relenting, the heat had taken its toll.

Neither plant nor beast nor jacketed creature moved

    their hopes for skyward gifts long abandoned.

Still we marched with the rumbles, a promise, a tease

    in a land dug deep unto these hills.

With diminishing light came a gathering of night on a canvas of blue gray and wheel.

   that was soon yet a boon to the beaten down moon and a wave, no a volley of storm.

That began with a crack and rancorously smacked the utmost pinnacle of poplar and oak.

Yet safely we lay, in that forest of gray as the conductor cued up his strings.

    for waves of storm falling harmless upon weathered nylon and much warmed skin.

In these days of dog with autumn's crispness but a hollow and distant promise

    You test our conditional love.  That one day we may say it was pounded of dry clay

In a firmament of ash and thirst.

But what a great lie under magnanimous sky in late summer on Bradley's fork.

Should the credit we take for opportunity You make as to sleep we gently are lulled


Thankless slumber in this land heavy lumbered, healed

    ...but changed, nonetheless.

copyright John Quillen