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Touchstone
And the brim of my old brown Stetson The one with the rattlesnake skin I harvest the minutes of happiness As I sit perched on the west side Of a knife-edged ridge high in the cascades I probe and part the stone and soil Peering through dust and debris In search of quartz crystals I am a rockhound A breed apart Yet a part of all who know the earth Time is the treasure that's counted As the quest for gems unfolds From the canyon the canyon below A breeze whisps by I pause, tasting the mountain scents Left in it's fresh wake And peruse the ever-changing Oregon skies I look out past the long valley of the Calapooya To the coast range beyond Where the shoulder of Mary's peak Rises, dimly blue in the hazy distance And on this, the first day of September I know peace and satisfaction Here amidst the rock cliffs and vine maple The Oregon Grape and huckleberry The wind and sun and cloud I am as I would be I am all I see I touch the stone As it touches me Danman
This poem may not be copied, distributed or reprinted in any form without the author's permission. To contact the author, please use the e-mail address provided. If you are unable to contact the author, please contact the Canadian Rockhound. Authorized reprints must acknowledge the author and the Canadian Rockhound, and include the website URL address of the Canadian Rockhound.
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Copyright © 1997 Canadian Rockhound
Images of minerals are Copyright ©1997
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