A current rises over Hillock and Butte,
rushes down Hillside and across The Bluff,
And courses swiftly past barns inhabited only by Sparrow,
rearranging dust motes and slatted sunlight:
the whim of feckless Nature.
Here, the air is dyed lavender,
tinted rosemary and rosehips,
sun-stained sage and yarrow,
from late blooms made brittle and weathered,
light turned to white,
bleached out by The Sun.
A beaten straw hat tipped in sweat-gathered snuff angles upward, westward,
seeking perfection in the jagged curve of Skyline.
a sash of curling leather, brass buckles.
Curiosity wears wind,
chapped lips like a badge,
a certain pride.