Walnut Canyon
Here the spirits of the Ancient Ones still live
A place of peace
In the spring the young peregrine screams
The mountain lion stalks its prey
The plump bear cubs tumble and play
Summer turns the meadows to a sea of blooms
In fall the golden aspens rattle in the wind
Winter brings the muffled silence of cold, deep snow
A hundred years from now we are gone,
But the Ancient Ones
Still reside
Do they still watch the peregrine swoop
And the cubs roll?
Or is it a paper cup and plastic bag
That will play on the wind and roll through the canyon?
It’s up to us
Right now
Today