I took a long walk today
under the blue Colorado sky
with white puffy clouds.
Passed ever-so-slightly rolling hills
of sage brush and scrub oak
and barbed-wire strung between
rough, old wooden poles.
Passed a row of cottonwoods
taking in the moisture of a small ditch.
The sun beat down and the cool wind blew
making me take off and put on my sweater.
I miss the forests and hills of Pennsylvania.
The various kinds of shade trees,
the gurgling creeks, the smell of moss.
But bloom where you’re planted is good advice.
So I’ll bloom like the pink or yellow
prickly-pear cactus and try not to be too prickly
when I’m missing Pennsylvania.
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