ancient and deep-green forests,
with trees taller than Goliath
and older than Methuselah

that stony mountain chain,
scraping heavens
made unpassable by walls of snow

threads of blue run through
carpeting patches of green and gold

foggy coasts with rocky cliffs
looming over the sea,
miles and miles of sand

fields of brush,
that old chaparral;
not scrub, but buckwheat and milkweed
and wildflowers

it is dust hills and dusky deserts,
ground hot and cracked by thirst
on which stones go sailing

it is the spring bringing gentle rains
that bloom soft orange petals,
blanketing the land

Mina Humiston
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