Ann Arbor Review


Chris Lord
Joseph McNair
Karyn M. Wolven
Geoffrey Philp
Paul B. Roth
Duane Locke
Silvia Scheibli
Shutta Crum
Felino Soriano
Steve Beaulieu
Donald Hewlett
Alan Britt
Joanie Freeman
Mervyn M. Solomon
Jerry Blanton
Marilyn Churchill
Running Cub
Mukul Dahal
Alice Paris

Helen Losse
Fred Wolven


Driving into the backlands of San Juan Forest
Seeking the Sharktooth Trail head,
Weather building in the sky around us
Making the mountains dark and uninviting.
We forged on over rock-strewn dirt roads,
Potholes filled with rainwater.
Driving deeper into the wilderness
We found our destination, stopped
And grabbed for our rain gear
As the sky opened up on us
Dropping its nourishing liquid upon the earth.
This year the rains have given growth
And a new found beauty to this dry arid land.

Up we go as we pass through the aspen forest
Seeing the white trunks in mass
Making a unique statement
With their leaves spinning with the wind.
Up we go into the tall pine trees
Filling the air with a familiar aroma
Up we go seeing the few remains
Of the adventurous miners'
Feeble attempts left in this rugged terrain.
The sense of history apparent
As we reflect on this ground--
The hunting area of
Ancient Pueblo cliff dwellers
Who lived nearby on the Mesa Verde.

The assent was not too steep letting us
Give our total attention to the surroundings.
Reaching the slate rocks above the tree line
On top of this amazing mountain,
Stopping to see, feel, think, and wonder,
We sit on top of the world
Gazing out at the abundance of wildflowers,
The Indian painbrush scattering red and yellows
Of the daisies with the contrasting purple asters;
The bluebells waiting to be picked and nibbled,
Mustards and the old favorite Queen Anne's Lace
Eyes and nose stimulated by this splendor
We sit in silence
Thankful for this moment in time
High above cities and towns
Far above the sounds of man
Unburdened and free.

Joanie Freeman, Virginia


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