Burns Creek
Climbing Chimney Rock.
Dad and David Scoville
In their mid 30s,
Two men out to prove
Their bravery,
Their derring-do.
Nervous,
My Mother,
My brother and I,
Five and six,
Necks craning,
Wait and watch;
Dad moves up and up
Clings to the top.
Inept and six,
I stand below,
Admiring my Father's
Fearlessness.
I am nearly blind,
The myopic, thick-lensed gawker,
Peering upward.
The men climb down,
Victorious,
The day’s challenges
Vanquished.
Heading home,
Choking dust.
Old land,
Deep ravines,
Rattle snake domain.
My father's old Ford
Bumps over red scoria,
Billows burning dust.
Ancient land,
Cindered clay,
Open grazing land,
Dry and hot.
Memories churn
From sixty years ago.
