Sunday, August 10, 2014

The Other Side of the Mountains

 Dedicated to Rusty, d. January 22, 2007
I’ve lived for years by the ocean,
In a house where I chose to hide…
Where beautiful views of the mountains,
Only showed their westerly side.

I headed southeast into Oregon,
Passed Hard Luck and Dead Man Hill;
Traveled the Old Emigrant Trail,
Where a cabin or two stand still.

The sounds of the Oregon Trail,
Are no longer the wagon train song,
But cowboys singing for Jesus;
Trucker caravans three miles long.

Ontario is the end of Lewis and Clark,
Satisfying the white man’s yearn.
With or without Sakajawaya,
I would rather make a u-turn.

Today I crossed the Snake River,
Traversed miles of sage brush and fennel,
My motel has a modern Jacuzzi,
But Rusty, we’re both in a kennel. 


Footnote:   I took this trip to Ontario, Oregon to have my hands operated on and it was the first time I had my dog boarded in 13 years. It was a life changing year and I walked away from a great job, because I decided life was too short to allow it to be trivialized.


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