Sketch

The river runs with mountain snow melt.
White gives way to granite.
Brush grows green buds, leaves.
Berries appear.
The wild avoids the city this season.

Driving to the top of Sandia peak,
a tire-tossed rock stars my windshield,
which, after a few bumps,
grows into a new horizon line,
a thin, singular blur of the oncoming.

The hitchhiker going up appears respectable.
He intends to take the cable car down at dusk.
His clothes display the wear of at least two-thousand miles.
His body exudes the heartiness of the same.
Smile brightens when I offer him some chocolate.

A mile from the parking lot through ponderosa and aspen,
peace and beauty immediate at the edge,
a long sigh rolls like distant thunder,
then quiet, then piñon jays dart
onto the pages of my sketchbook, transferred by charcoal.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

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