Black Hills, South Dakota [8-17-19]

The formations of the Badlands breaks the line of the horizon,

threatening to swallow the sun lie a massive Cretaceous era beast.

The Black Hills rise like the shadows of distant mountains beyond the trees.

The Ponderosa pines stand upon the hillside and granite outcroppings like giant sentinels.

The wind blows steady through the trees, sounding like the rolling tides of the ocean.

The moon hangs low and full over the rolling prairie like a polished rune stone,

illuminating an endless sky full of worlds a world away.

The nights here are darker, longer, deeper.

The distant echo of a dog’s barking seeming as a wolf to the imagination.

The ground shines like diamonds from the mica deposits exposed among the dirt like broken glass.

The crickets, grasshoppers, katydids chirp their songs in the underbrush,

which is entangled with wild raspberries.

We fill out hands and mouths with the tangy sweet morsels,

soft like velvet and delicate as baby birds between our red-stained fingers.

We trek with our packs among the forestry lane,

feeling as though we were the first European explorers to lay eyes upon this ancient land.

Every sight, sound, smell, and taste; a wonder.