We sit around the fire,
A circle of tired faces.
We SHARE a charred bit of this,
An undercooked slice of that.
After, our hands are busy:
You TWIST and knot ropes,
I take up a needle to mend a hole
We tell tales of BISON we never saw;
We speak of love lost or cherished
And sometimes both.
We sing, finding MUSIC
To be like honey,
Making this cowboy’s life a little sweeter.

Georg’ann

YOUTH, it goes too QUICK.
I miss it with my child,
with all the children in my life.
Just that sentence written
memories roll through me like marbles.
Each beautiful, shimmering ball a portal
to the full experience, magical
like a Willy Wonka chocolate.

Sitting here at my table, so tired.
Am I conscious?
Every word coming from something
akin to LUCID dreaming.
If thoughts were a spice mine would be CUMIN,
earthy and complex, just a bit gritty.
Tonight no more MUSIC, please.
Any sound too much stimulus.
The marbles have found their resting place.
And so must I.

Heather