Environmental activist and writer Edward Abby
from his book of poetry Earth Apples.
There was a dry season in a dry country:
barren clouds above the mountain peaks,
blue delirium over the cliffs,
a hot wind moaning through the trees
of a dying forest....
We waited, we all waited
for the soft and silver rain
to come and ease our thirst.
We waited, while our hearts
withered in the heat.
The first promise of a new season
came at evening in the form of evening light
(like the light in your eyes, your hair, your smile,
the soft glow on your arms.)
the aspens shivered with hope.
the yellow pines stirred their heavy limbs.
The cliffrose open its flowers
and a strange fierce joy sang through my heart,
in tune with the winds
and the ecstasy of the earth
and the singing of the wild and lonely sky.
an exerpt from, Returning to Earth;
There must be a cricket named Zagreus
in the granary tucked under a roof beam,
under which my three-year old daughter
boogies madly,
her first taste of the Grateful Dead;
she is well out of her mind.
He who travels far will often see things
far removed from what he believed was Truth. When he talks about it in the fields at home, he is often accused of lying, for the obdurate people will not believe What they do not see and distinctly feel.
Inexperience, I believe, Will give little creedence to my song.