Foreigner

As a foreigner to this place,

I walk with measured feet, leaving

the smallest footprint engrained

upon the brown crust, laced with snow.

The whir of the car engine halts,

and I wait as other vehicles whiz by

one after another. At last, movement

and color, texture and

life. My camera clicks

clicks, clicks. I squeal with glee

for photo conquered — the scalp

on my belt: the wild buffalo.

I fill this space with gadgets and

sounds — the toys of my world.

Sitting in silence in this outdoor

cathedral, I feel almost reverent

relishing the slice of life set before me.

The bison alone upon the roughed

mountain plain moving to the rhythms of

survival. Stark against modern society,

he plods up the tattered pathways,

the wind songs gust in seasonal solo,

ancient melody rising from dust to dust.

~ Bonnie Saul Wilks