His artistry is brilliant, historic, important. It is in museums throughout the world. We love his paintings. He likes our words. The story is about the most important event in Crow history. The Battle of Arrow Creek. Elk Morning, our character, fictitiously is there....

Too close to the house. Fire season will be here soon, again. Gracious heroes consider my thousands of trees. For these firefighters, it's a canyon of fuel. They have come to keep me safe. I offer them water. Whatever they want. "Thank you, ma'am. We have everything...

The big sky is a canvas. A pale burnt umber climbs to violet, then light cyan. Capture the rainbow with a touch of light. A master tries to paint nature to hang on a wall. Or sharing a photo is almost a shame. Because nothing is the same as being there.

Wakes the pine and sage. Natures perfume is sucked into my open windows. I breathe the intensity deep through my nose. Intoxicating me to sleep. This morning, the dew provides a lingering memory. Of how I witnessed the smell, the sound, the source of...

To race through ponds and chase coyote. Climb canyon walls and fly across pastures. Exhausted, my domain secure, the road leads home.

Butterflies fill your stomach and crawl under your skin through your chest to your heart. Numbing hands. On the floor, the fetal position is not enough. Only a soothing abyss restores. Like home. The sense of home. It may seem far away. Or long ago. If you are lucky,...

Published in https://www.poetschoice.in/books.php Living in the Mountains Covered in soft native grass framed with ponderosa pine. The old mare made a bed in the grass. I looked for her and found the hill. She would go there to sleep, to dream, to die. On blue sky...

Something yummy. Or profound. I can't wait to tell you, my best friend. About a happening from across the pond or over the hill. Is there a new treat to be shared? Did I not suffer a fool well? Did I dig my hole too deep? Did I chase a noble flying bird and then lose...

On Saturday mornings. The wind is wilder in his current pasture. My arms surround his neck. My fingers comb his mane. Does he miss me or my carrots? He is calming veterans souls. And teaching their children skills. He seems to know he is performing good work. He is...

His name is Prince. He had a mate named Purple Rain. She has been gone since November. A part of the circle. Either by hawk or eagle or coyote. She stayed close to the barn. Snuggled with the dogs. He was the wanderer. Ran from the dogs. He survives. Barn cats either...