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.
