Fun partly now
to walk through those
dry golden and green California hills.
Sublime, profound,
to remember the past
to imagine oneself
in part of that past.
In those stories:
George and Lennie
walked through these hills
down roads towards an uncertain future.
The Joads saw those
parched places.
They were battled over.
Contested.
Farmed.
Nice to not really be
a part of these hard tales.
Glad they are remembered
though.
Easier, safer
to be part
of something else,
some other tales;
alone in this country,
in those wondrous evocative hills
which remind us
that we can make
decisions.
About Ryder W. Miller