A hundred-forty west-bound miles of
Montana Highway 200 see a summer
Traveler somewhere between
Grass Range and Jordan,
Deep in grass and antelope.
Waterless miles of meandering
Dry creek beds and barbwire alleyways
Herd the occasional car or truck
Down narrow asphalt chutes of road.
Speed limit signs stamped "70 mph"
Stand mortified and silent at Speed
Demons hurtling westward to Great Falls,
Round Up, or Flowing Wells, or east to
Jordan, Circle, Richey, Lambert, and Sidney.
Extreme heat and cold on the open plain
Demand courtesies of the West;
Travelers always stop to
Help the stranded.
So it was I came at speed to Sand Springs,
A sultry July day, heading to Billings,
Sad to be leaving my lover and my bairns.
A long way off, I saw her car,
Hood up and steam rising.
I shifted down and idled to a stop.
"Can I help you?"
An older woman,
Crow, I think, looked out,
A bit confused at first
Until her eyes cleared.
"I need a ride," she said,
And so began our adventure.
I made room in the truck
And turned around to find
The ranch where she cooked.
Ten miles back, we left the road
To take a trail that wound back
Into hills, dry with early heat.
"About five miles in," she said.
We found the place,
Resting in a scrap heap
Of old vehicles and broken corrals,
Middle of nowhere,
But she was home
And opened up the door.
She asked me to wait a bit,
So I sat, wondering what was next,
While she walked in through her door.
In a minute she returned
Her offering in her hand.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Nodding, I took the gift,
Shifted into reverse,
Left her there.
The braid of sweet grass,
An unburned prayer,
Rode on my dash
All summer long....
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
A hundred-forty west-bound miles of
Montana Highway 200 see a summer
Traveler somewhere between
Grass Range and Jordan,
Deep in grass and antelope.
Waterless miles of meandering
Dry creek beds and barbwire alleyways
Herd the occasional car or truck
Down narrow asphalt chutes of road.
Speed limit signs stamped "70 mph"
Stand mortified and silent at Speed
Demons hurtling westward to Great Falls,
Round Up, or Flowing Wells, or east to
Jordan, Circle, Richey, Lambert, and Sidney.
Extreme heat and cold on the open plain
Demand courtesies of the West;
Travelers always stop to
Help the stranded.
So it was I came at speed to Sand Springs,
A sultry July day, heading to Billings,
Sad to be leaving my lover and my bairns.
A long way off, I saw her car,
Hood up and steam rising.
I shifted down and idled to a stop.
"Can I help you?"
An older woman,
Crow, I think, looked out,
A bit confused at first
Until her eyes cleared.
"I need a ride," she said,
And so began our adventure.
I made room in the truck
And turned around to find
The ranch where she cooked.
Ten miles back, we left the road
To take a trail that wound back
Into hills, dry with early heat.
"About five miles in," she said.
We found the place,
Resting in a scrap heap
Of old vehicles and broken corrals,
Middle of nowhere,
But she was home
And opened up the door.
She asked me to wait a bit,
So I sat, wondering what was next,
While she walked in through her door.
In a minute she returned
Her offering in her hand.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Nodding, I took the gift,
Shifted into reverse,
Left her there.
The braid of sweet grass,
An unburned prayer,
Rode on my dash
All summer long....
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