of pennywhistles and footfalls

There is dust on the needles of the Jack Pines and the high noon sun glints 

off little mirrors of Mica adorning the rocks like bling. Cactus dare to bloom here

though the snow may come again, and hawks soar over our heads as if they

were the kiing makers and the kings. They’ve little use for our bravado 

though they will gladly feast upon the luckless creatures that cross the determined path

of our machines. Peaks stand tall and harmonize 

with the wind, cast deep shadows in the valley as the sun sinks low one more time.

When the moon rises I know that the coyotes will form a circle and add

their pennywhistle voices to the symphony that breathes in rhythm. We two-

legged creatures really do have a place here, as long as we feel

each footfall and remember we too shall come to dust someday.



About theminstrelscitadel

In search of courageous souls who aren't afraid to dig a little deeper and have a conversation about all manner of things. Rant, rave, debate, discuss... let's do it!
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2 Responses to of pennywhistles and footfalls

  1. Oloriel says:

    Very thought inspiring, my favourite part :”They’ve little use for our bravado

    though they will gladly feast upon the luckless creatures that cross the determined path

    of our machine” – the machine is mentioned nonchalantly, but it carries a great weight, to me it replicates how society/reality looks nowadays, where we hardly even notice this notion.

  2. I frequently ponder humanity’s place on this planet of ours. Are we the scourge that the natural world must seek to protect itself from? Do we play a positive role at all? Have we lost “our way” to such an extent that we can only cause imbalance? While we attempt to increase productivity/increase efficiency/harvest more and more to meet human demands, are we really setting the stage for global catastrophe? Thank god, you might be thinking, that the MInstrel didn’t try to put all those questions into her poem! 🙂 Thanks for your thoughtful reply, Oloriel.

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