A Man finds his Valley

As he struggled over one last rock,
suddenly the valley opened up before him.
Awe overtook him.
As his breath held up a lamp
to his tired and shadowed body.
history suddenly turned a chapter.
I will live here, he said.
Before a post was thumped into earth,
his eyes were already planting seed,
building a homestead.
Everything below him was
like a painting out of his own dreams.
He knew that green.
The gold was as familiar as
the knuckles of his right hand.
The floor of this world
was the ceiling of his sleep,
heavy with wild oats.
that flushed against his cheeks.
Geography had taken time out
of boring school-room classes,
to make his moment.
Not a tree, not a stone, was out of place.
The creek rolled over its rocky bed,
through a gauntlet of narrow willows.
Farms quilted the lower slopes.
Houses were spaced
many arm stretches apart.
Two flanks of mountain held the valley in,
one side protecting it from the sea,
the other stemming the desert winds.
It could pick and choose the best
of whatever weather was going.
At the far end, more houses
clustered against a mud-walled church.
This was the town, the only one visible.
From where he stood, it looked a town
that could make good of one more man.
And he was that man,
loping down the escarpment now,
singing and waving
to a stranger in a field.
No, not a stranger. Himself.

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1 Comment

  1. Wow! Great story.

    Reply

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