Pagosa Springs Artists

Seen on a Picture-Perfect Midwest Day

As we rolled along, bordering the highway heaved

laden cornfields, harvest-ready stalks set as tight

as a beard's stubble, glowing amber

in the noontime sun.


Across the macadam, soy bushes had shriveled

to a great clearing of dull brown sticks

framed by hedgerows

of deep viaridian.


The earthy patchwork of farm weald stretched

in every direction to distant treelines

under a porcelain sky filled with

pretty little popcorn clouds.


Just then I spied a lone figure walking a crossroad

that reached to the far horizon, his back to us,

undaunted by the long and empty ribbon

stretching before him, jaunt steady


if slow, clothes disheveled, as open to the day

and to his fate as any migratory creature.

Alone, destination uncertain, stoically

forebearing like my brother,

a thousand miles away

dying of cancer.


first published in The Aurorean

©2015 Bonnie Manion


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