I’m a bone-dried Western creature, part Magpie, part dust-devil, part free-range horse, and perpetually surprised I wasn’t born with four hooves. Words are one path I’m exploring to honor the life within and around me. They help trace a sketchy map I’m making of The Territories I find.
Hay Fever
They cut and run
from sun to sun,
Leaving little green mountains
where once there were none.
Loafy green packages
all in a row…
Once succulent soldiers
now slain by the mow.
Mechanical ants
chewing hay off the fields,
Slicing up summer
for winter’s cold meals.
© 2009, Nancie McCormish