After the Rains
This poem is from Ed Keenan,
author & cowboy poet

The Inspiration ~

Imagine hiking the trail or riding horseback on a spring morning after a refreshing rain. You climb the western slope of the Laguna Mountains. The air is chilly and bright and so clear that you can see down below for fifty miles.

Climbing up from the foothills and meadows, through the sage and chaparral, past the cattle pond—and the old holding corral made of ancient rustic timbers and wrought iron straps— by mid-morning you are above the oaks and enter the fragrance of pines. Man and horse pause and rest on the plateau. And then breaking out of the big conifers on the eastern side, the huge boulders and red manzanita reach right out to the edge of desert precipice. 

The first look over the edge is always spectacular and breathtaking. From there the crooked trail drops four thousand feet below. The distant view is stunning, but the splotchy color on the desert floor grabs your attention. What a mosaic, a patch-quilt, a potpourri of sand paints and desert bloom!

After The Rains

Leaving my chores to procrastination
I seek the cooing voice of spring,
where shafting through a feathered song
a crystal sword of sunlight
speaks with startling beauty.

Beneath the spread of mammoth oaks
and fragrance of the supple sage,
I take a break to deeply inhale the woods,
air as pure as glacier springs
and stalks of mountain lupines.

Through big-cone spruce and manzanita
and boulder’d hills of chaparral,
I climb the steep crest above the desert
and serenity of open space,
rimmed by purple mountains.

Atop an avalanche of emerald greens
and sun-shards igniting spring,
are golden lights of buttered poppies
and awe of painted sands,
so I descend to wildflowers,
—after the rains.

Ed Keenan © 11-04