Driving up winding roads, hard dirt, deep ruts.
"Mud season" is on its way (so they say)
Fields covered in snow, cradled by these mountains,
dance and tangle with the sunflower fields in my mind.
A tender spring heart waits inside this pale winter flesh, ever patient.
I dreamt of a woman; her old oak soul, her sapling heart.
Gentle footsteps caressed the hills, and her breath,
a traveler's wind, moaning through the twisted roads;
As twilight's inky murk bleeds, so too her black hair grows long
into the shadows of crooked trees.
field notes: I was driving home the other evening and i heard these birds clamoring wildly from a field... as winter is just finally starting to melt here, I've been hearing a bird here and there, but hearing this really made my heart leap.. spring is just waiting at the door.