Red Dirt
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On road trips
the landscape changes.
Dirt determines the location.
the terrain.
Long fences, sage brush, sandy soil, rocky hills, gullies, cattle scattered.
We knew we were in the west
close to grandmother’s house
when the dirt turned red,
high contrast to white cotton
a pile of memories,
the heat of childhood visits
where there was no pain or struggle
only picnics and watermelon,
walks in the red river,
swimming,
standing beneath the falls.
When driving north it was the Salt Lake white that stood out
forcing us to stop and just look.
A lake in the distance, glazed and still.
Messages written in sand by the side of the road,
rocks used to make each letter.
