Archive for November, 2016


The Long Road East



The Ditch Road That Swings Back Toward the Sandias
And That Inspires Many A Thought About Caring For My Roots

poems in honor of
my parents
and in honor of my journey without them

©1993 Cirrelda Claire Snider-Bryan

sky bright
autumn day

high leaves
mark the way

I walk
on the road

prayer ode
from my home

steps rhyme
with this song

think time
and right now


Morning Walk on Ditch

I had been following this unknown configuration in the sand. It was a wide little swath – with knicks evenly spaced on both sides. Was it a snake ? was my first question.
The track came out into the middle of the road and doubled back.
It was a very intricate track.

I kept on walking. (Plodding a better word cause I was still sleepy and lost in thought.)
But had the thought – “There’s a story in that -. Was there a fight? Why did the intricate track double back?

So, I turn around … find it again … follow it …
Does it stop at that paw print – ?
No, it continues on down the
I see
a crawdad!

Who notices me, too, & stops.
Then starts up again.
Slowly, intricately, pulling that
body, that armor, along.
Gently texturing that sand
like a wonderful border on a clay pot.

Heading for the weeds –
(the protection for the day or to begin hibernation?)

I turn around to continue my walk.

There back in the middle of the road is another guy – but his legs are up in the air.
He’s helpless, legs trying to grasp something to turn him over.
My shoe tries to do that – and I do get him over. But he’s extremely muddy, caked with sandy mud.

& instantly he begins

to go in circles,

around & around & around.

I wonder, What’s wrong? Maybe he can’t see because he’s all covered up with wet sand.

Well, the minutes tick on and it is a work day. I continue my plod. Leaving him, (hoping he’ll find
his way off the road) other thoughts come into my mind after I wonder at the slowness of their flight.
Kinda dangerous.
They’re well-suited for their slowness, I guess, in that heavy armour.

After my double-back, on my way home to get ready for work, I come upon the place in the road again.
The “caked” one is STILL there … his track all jumbled … he’s still been going around and around.

I stand there wondering. ? Should I throw him back in the ditch, let him get washed off, then he’ll come
back out on his own to continue his journey?

Do I wipe it off with my hand ?

Or would I be interfering ? Or will that mud stay on all day?

Will I, won’t I?

OK – grab some dry loose grass – make a brush in my hand – start to brush it off. It comes off easily.
THERE are his eyes ! – little black glassy balls.
He protests, just like my young niece when she’s getting the tangles combed out of her hair.

I can go.
I’m on my way.
Maybe he’ll not ger run over now.
“You’d better get off this road!” I say out loud to this boy (or girl) crawdad.

Walking on … other thoughts on my mind.
Me walking on my walk … my weekly double-backs.

Later I hear the sound of a vehicle coming from behind. Coming up close.
Panic. Is he off the road yet ?
Panic and help in the palms of my feet stretch, race ! back along the road toward him.
“Get off!” Those feet push him off.

Do we get helped along, too ?
Spirits unknown to us – once in a blue moon deciding to stoop down and brush us off ?
Someone once said to me that it could be our lives are like water striders on the ditch surface.
We’re not really aware of that whole other reality going on above us on the bank. Just only every once in a while we get this glimmer of a movement that doesn’t seem normal. And many times we just dismiss it as nothing. Yes there is that whole other big beautiful world going on, with being stopping to admire us or eat us. And to us it may just seem like a gray cloud, a chill wind, or an uncomfortable feeling of being shaken up., that amazingly leaves you feeling clearer. For some reason.

clay & log posts

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