Tonight I came upon some photos taken when we vacationed at Yellowstone National Park.
The photos reminded me of several poems I wrote about the bison roaming the prairie and the roads. I'll share one of them and three photos taken by my brother-in-law, Stu Moring.
Autumn at Yellowstone 2004
Is it the fire or maybe just September
that paints the park in shades of brown?
A herd of bold, shaggy bison crop
amber prairie grass waving below
rocky mountain peaks.
Do the small calves by their side face
certain death from winter’s blizzards?
I reach from my car window,
touch the sloughing coat of one
historic survivor marching like a tired soldier
down the highway’s center line.
In the distance hobbling on three legs,
no longer able to keep up ―
a potential dinner for wolves.
|It was September and all was gold and brown|