Year of writing 62 WIldcat Canyon

3/3/12

Wildcat Canyon

Two minutes from the I-80,
the trees filter everything.
Oak and Eucalyptus barriers
distilling traffic into a barely
audible thrum, like your own
blood sounds inside the ear
when silence hovers.
The light, dappled and flecked
is propitious here;
a good omen for those passing
alongside the Scotch Broom,
the wildflowers peeking
shyly from beneath.
Take your time on this path.
It will wait, whatever your
tribulation may be, it will wait
for these slow steps through
elutriated space.  Hold
these minutes under the soles
of your feet, return when
you feel the drudge creep
past your ankles.  Return
when you hear the traffic
louder than your own blood.