| THEY DAMED THE CANYON You can see down through the canyon, damed at the other end. A million gallons water more, through pipelines will be sent. And underneath the water, land once lush and green. A house was here, a windmill there, were nowhere to be seen. When I was just a little kid, we crossed it back up thar. An old iron narrow bridge it was, now a bumper for a car. We'd go to Amarillo, go shopping I would think. And on the way, stop at the bridge, underneath to get a drink. I'd run down inlaid stones for steps, mom working her way down. A fountain built into the wall, fresh water from the ground. It stayed that way for many years, adolesense now was gone. I stood and watched them blow it up, it hurt me to the bone. I know it was a derelict thing, though it was being used. Were few left in the country, soon less, they lit the fuse. It crumbled rust and water boiled, dust rolled out from its sides. And when the wind had settled it, making room for two four wide. Now on back down the canyon, boats raced on white capped waves. Some would set and fish a while, and others speed they braved. I guess the progress needed be, others have endured. A recreation playground, a water shortage cured. I used to take my boat with me, and stay out all night long. Fishing deep dark waters, humming an old song. I don't go there any more, kids are grown and gone. They have a younger crowd to share, and seldom come back home. Now scrapbook closed, pictures worn, it goes back on the shelf. I'll pull it out again someday, and show it to myself. The Masked Writer; <,.-> <o.o> |