Late Summer Texas Field
The power lines are taut
through the afternoon heat.
above me and drone
in the wind
as I rest in the prairie below them,
lie next to the
late summer, fall flowers,
bunches of bitterweed by my left hand.
The scissortails tread wind
and above Clear Creek
five buzzards circle over their rookery.
There’s not much water;
the carp moved downriver days ago.
this place can offer;
sparse, I guess, for some.
Less than what we call wilderness,
Tags: Environment, Nature, Texas, Writing, Culture, David Taylor poem