Mark I. Kirkmeyer

THE WINTERING GROUNDS

Ridges for a bowl
Holding out the cold
High storms blown away
Low storms kept at bay
She calls to him

Arkansas her heart
Royal Gorge cut the start
Water babbles with pride
Ice forms at bend side
She calls to him

Wildcats chase prey
Eagles soar in sky gray
Deer and Elk graze
Beavers and rabbits play
She calls to him

Smoke from lodges rise
Breeze carries playful cries
Camp women doing chores
There are no stores
She calls to him

White Man came in
Built a prison
Ownership they claim
The land they name
She calls to him

Life at hurried pace
The great railroad race
This place so fine
The finish line
She calls to him

No one now hears her call
Life moves fast for all
There’s no time each day
To remember the old way
She calls to him.

“Winter’s First Snow” by Ed Posa

Author’s Note: By special request from Monica Murphy