"You stand there, braced. Cloud shadows race
over the buff rock stacks as a projected film,
casting a queasy, mottled ground rash.
The air hisses and it is no local breeze
but the great harsh sweep of wind from the turning of the earth.
The wild country--indigo jags of mountain, grassy plain everlasting,
tumbled stones like fallen cities, the flaring roll of sky
--provokes a spiritual shudder.
It is like a deep note that cannot be heard but is felt,
it is like a claw in the gut...
...Other cultures have camped here a while and disappeared.
Only earth and sky matter.
over the buff rock stacks as a projected film,
casting a queasy, mottled ground rash.
The air hisses and it is no local breeze
but the great harsh sweep of wind from the turning of the earth.
The wild country--indigo jags of mountain, grassy plain everlasting,
tumbled stones like fallen cities, the flaring roll of sky
--provokes a spiritual shudder.
It is like a deep note that cannot be heard but is felt,
it is like a claw in the gut...
...Other cultures have camped here a while and disappeared.
Only earth and sky matter.
Only the endlessly repeated flood of morning light.
You begin to see that God does not owe us much beyond that.”
~~Annie Proulx
You begin to see that God does not owe us much beyond that.”
~~Annie Proulx
No comments:
Post a Comment