Bedrock

In the hills before the mountains
And the plains before the hills
Pine and spruce and cattle
Battle the cold currents
Whipping, hurling down
From snowy peaks
Rough and rowdy
Like a frontier fist fight

Clouds hang low
Filled with crystals that cling
To the bare skin like barnacles
Ticks burrowing into the blood
Stealing its heat and the comfort
Of the kitchen hearth
That moments ago
Warmed in a loving embrace

The ancient rocks that underlie this valley
Remind of bigger things, older things,
Than bitter breezes and frozen extremities
They call to the soul and warn:
Vanities are needles stinging in the cold wind

Endurance takes patience,
Is a vast calm that disregards
The spikes and dips of temperature
Of fortune
Is the bedrock of this valley

The barn door needs painting come spring