In The Red Rocks

It feels like sand in the air and and the bristly needles of every bush make raspy, rough sounds against my jeans.  The ground feels deep.  Much deeper than depth, like deep richness, full of soul and old blood.  Dry in the wind, there are sounds, like birds, like voices, like calls. Cool in the lungs.  I’m mindful of keeping my tread light.  The scents are sharp and cut through one another.  Crisp like danger and welcome.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s