We loved it there before the wind
changed and the air got stale.
Is our future in the sounds of the
desert instead of the noise of the
Will the plastic owl hold off the
woodpecker I hear on a neighbor’s
Our time had come. The autumns
we loved lost their luster. The land
became bleak. The vibrant colors of
our lives were drained and worn to
We were rejected and scorned there.
Now those who hurt us are rejected
and scorned, but they wouldn’t take
notice of it.
The desert sun warms us; there is
laughter in every gentle breeze. And
there are tears with every occasional
You sing, “I see the mountains and the
mountains see me,” on every outing.
We don’t tire of looking at the
mountains and the mountains looking
back at us. Or watching the birds and
bunnies darting in and out.
It is our new desert song.
Poet, Writer, US Army (Retired)
I dreamed of writing when I was a youngster. The love of books and writing may have helped to dull the pain of severe sexual abuse as I was sexually abused by two men at my father’s place of work from age 8 to 12 or so. I learned about this for the first time when I was 50 years old. So, as a boy, reading was the only place I had to go to. My fantasy world was better and safer than my real world. I loved reading and writing.
Reading books and writing poetry are a joy to me still and are an important part of my life. (See my About Me page on my blog for the complete profile.)