On the Edge of the Sheldon Refuge
Across the fast-forward skies
of basin and range, I cover my eyes
at the abruptness of her beauty revealed
in slow-moving lenticular, ever-blackening buttes
and dark emerald sage; the cedars of the desert.
Especially in spring, I am resurrected
by the force of her deluge, reborn
by her random winds; stunningly reminded
how small and important we are.
Springs are hidden; surprised, I realize
water begins bubbling hot from the earth,
to run, weave, and finally dissipate
along this old Oregon Trail
where Digger Indians lived,
loved the symbol
a point within a circle. I kneel down
on the obsidian mound, watch
as her moods gather and calm
the infinitely small
mosses and lichen
that hustle to manifest in clay.
-- Lynne Bigley
Lynne Bigley lives in Nevada where she works as a civil rights attorney. She has been published in the Red Rock Review, and the Avatar Review.