(From my "kids and dogs" series)
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Climbing up through Aspen and Ponderosa
we breathe heavy gulps of thin air,
grab onto rocks, branches;
whatever gives to our need
until we arrive at the edge of a granite canyon,
So high above
we no longer hear the tumbling stream.
Now the wind is our song.
We stand, thinking “what now?”
And just as we begin to breathe easier
a large slab of granite
breaks from the side of the cliff,
sends a loud CRACK!
from the opposite canyon wall,
like the voice of God, “here’s what.”
Echoes of rock against rock warn us; ‘
Step back, grab the dog.
And finally they fade into the wind,
the canyon’s song returns,
whispers “alright then.”
And we wonder what voice
by the fisherman below.
The worst thing in the world is the homesickness that comes over a man occasionally when he is at home.
- E. W. Howe