It is stark this land less populated by people.
Balded hills of taupe gray fields
houses and squat silos, twiggy trees yet nude
punctuated by slanted telephone poles.
It is the land of the vast empty
where winds do roam untethered & unnoticed.
Solitude lives here amongst the sagging roofs
homes long abandoned.
It is an island unto itself
apart from civilization
a sense of loss & forgottenness.
We meander along the artery carved between
the hills. No sentries of trees greet us. No
electric lights to illuminate us down this
stretch this corridor of West Hwy 84.