The evening train clamoring in the distance,
Side winds slowly up the coast, its somber
Sound fills the soft summer air, then,
Beds down in golden grasses of canyons below.
Sun, lazily lingering above the edge of the world,
Ignites the sand stone rocks, nestled in
Chaparral, shaded black holes, carved by
Wind, peer back at me.
Vultures celebrate the eve.
Catching warm canyon breeze, down
They speed, straight, strong wings, outstretched,
Banking upwind, sun reflecting, silver gray under wing.
Below, band-tailed pigeon, perches
Statuesque, yellow legs gripping dead branch lookout,
Perfect cover save its red roving eye, which,
Catching mine, off he flies, down wind.
My ear turns to the evening coo of
Mourning dove, paired with partners,
Sleek silhouettes upon tawny stone, soft and silent,
They seek wild seed below.
And then, wind, subtle in its course this eve,
Brushes my cheek and carries
My thoughts, softly drifting, over ridge and sea,
Joining red tails circling blue sky above.
Whoever I was a moment ago, I am no longer!
Seeming perilous civic obsessions
Drift away with canyon breezes, loosing
Import in the golden rose haze of dusk.
The world now curbs its motion in this timeless space,
Stillness vibrates and embraces all.
Air visible and full stops its travel,
Silence and serenity abound.
My eye soon tracks the sun. A glowing
Yellow ball touching an indigo sea,
Flattening out, it now moves swiftly…
This age-old moment will not last.
Slipping past the edge of earth, the sun
Calls forth cold inland air dampened by mist.
Swirling its way atop dark ridge above, passing
My momentary life, it hastens down canyon creek.
Night slinks urgently into this waning day,
One last lone dove, joins the cold moving air,
Tucked wings, inside misty air stream, she flies
Straight into dark canyon shadows and is gone.
Doyle Hollister 2003