A poem inspired by driving the back roads (granted there are no main roads) of Eastern Oregon. A place we called home for 8 years.
The vastness draws my eyes
Steals my focus
Widens my periferal vision
That strays from the path
The way
That was designed
For practicality, predictability
The way
Things are supposed to go
The lines, reflectors, ridges
Reflect, bump, thump
Warning me to narrow
My gaze, stay the path
To watch where the path goes,
To follow.
But I am called beyond
The narrowness of predictability
Into the mysterious distance.
I long for the stories of the cliffs, the lone apple tree, the vallys
Have to tell.
Thus I vere again and again
Off the way, the narrow the path,
Sometimes remembering,
Often seeking, and
Always wondering what the land
Has to teach me.
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