we lived for a while
in a valley which unrolled
from mountains on both sides
meeting in the center with only
a slight tilt from south to north
it was beautiful there
and there need be
new words to describe it
the few small towns – churches
demanding adherence to rules
set down by a make believe
people serious enough to
kill or die for the word
being touched by the mountain beauty
must have been like seeing the burning bush
a valley must be driven through
over and over again like birds
in their annual flights north to south
and back again until every watering spot
resting spot and feeding place is imprinted
George, this captured me immediately with its remarkable flow and imagery of that place. It made me wonder if it was Star Valley (if I have that name right) closer to Jackson. That last stanza is just so full of ideas and movement and the cycle of life in that place. Loved this.
The slow build from first to last just sings. Thank you for a sweet, enduring image of how places become meaningful in their own right. This reminds me of a conversation long ago with a friend on this site about how things become sacred. Love it! LK
