Born between winter and spring,
two-thirds up a hill, I trudged
through the clinging softness
of swamps and wet clays,
climbed onto the wind-scoured basalt
plateaus of the high desert.
Trading both the sulfurous muck
and the blinding glare for a green knoll
between two seasonal streams,
I cherish the lovely long twilight,
the pendulumīs small swings
around the center.
