At Home in the Wilderness

Sky-colored confetti,
Mountain bluebirds scatter
From the road to fence posts
When each car approaches,

And you grin in the shade.
Sitting by the wayside,
You like the visuals,
The light traffic, the birds—

Not quite country living
But country visiting,
And where have you ever
Not been a visitor?

Who’s more visitor here
On this scenic mountain,
Here in these latter days,
Anyways, the tourists

Who seem to own the place,
Or these birds they scatter?
Say you’re a regular.
You live near, come often.

You know all your choice spots
Overlooking the cliffs.
You’re not a trail hiker.
You couldn’t survive here.

You don’t own a bunker
Among those in the trees.
You can watch the tourists,
And the bluebirds settle

When the traffic’s absent,
And listen to the wind
Tune the branches hiding
Those empty, locked bunkers.

The only thing that stays
Wilderness is what’s next,
What can’t be prepared for,
The future no one sees.