| MAXIMZE PAGE FOR VIEWING |
| Soaring Free The breeze falls and in the hush left behind, man stands in awe, viewing a vista serene. Eyes can see where men have walked amidst clumps of pinon trees. Adobe houses, baked from eons of time, are standing sentinels of death unprepared to die. Overhead an eagle soars above the Painted Desert, spilled enamel grains of sand. Upon this barren land once walked the forgotten tribes, living a death before the dying happened. Like mud dwellings, men resist their ends until overcome by time. The eagle soars above the terrain. Soaring free A mighty Saguaro reaches toward the sky, towering mutely along side adobe ruins. All things created by men must go the way of man. This shall always be. The eagle swoops in wide circles in a cloudless day, oblivious to obscure destinies. Adobe bricks reflect the relentless sun, except for a shadow come and gone . Soaring Free. |
| THE POET SPEAKS: I was not born on this desert. However, once someone accepts these harsh elements as home, he must feel as I felt when writng SOARING FREE. Ancient times blend tentatively with our modern lives. The cool nights recall times when city lights did not obscure frustrated star watchers. New Mexico is one of the last strongholds, one can yet feel the past. But time will alter that, perhaps...perhaps not. |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |