By Robin Rhyner

I am from flat lands,
from lava rock,
red cinder roads,
rattle snakes,
from blowing dust and dry hot air. 

I’m from Manzanita,
from tumbleweeds,
sage, pine, and juniper.

I am from thunderstorms,
from afternoon lightning strikes,
forest fires, sunburns, and freezing nights;
from irrigation ditches, homesteads,
buzzing heat, mirages on the road,
and Coca-Cola in bottles.

I am from black sky, a million sparkling stars,
August meteor showers
and telescope parties on lava butte;
from obsidian fields,
volcanic tunnels, birds of prey,
and long, straight roads.

I am from Timberline,
class IV rapids,
frozen ponds,
alfalfa and mint fields;
from leaning out windows,
walking on crusted snow,
sledding down hillsides,
swimming through culverts,
riding bicycles. 

I am from clear lakes,
winter air, Aspen trees
quaking and shimmering,
from Deschutes River Woods,
Tamarack, TangleWood,
Awbrey Butte, Three-fingered Jack
Broken Top, Jefferson, Metolius.

In the shoebox under my bed
there are thunder eggs,
bird’s nests, pine cones,
river rocks, and skipping stones.

2 Responses to From

  1. Christine says:

    Robin: your words just seem to flow….my question is “Do thoughts come as easily as they read, from your brain, flowing like water to your fingertips where a keyboard or pencil or pen wait to make the visions visible for the rest of us?”

  2. tamarahunter says:

    Robin, I always loved the flow of this, the images, but I understand this poem better now
    x Tamara

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