ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS

© 2021 by Vernon Miles Kerr, VernonMilesKerr.com

1949

Over the years Mom and Pop had tried California,

Butsomething always drew them back East.

Maybe they pined for that slower pace,

A less crowded place.

But, when I was six, back they came,

Spanning the Contenintal Divide,

Several mountain ranges and a boring beating of a desert,

Bringing us back to L.A. for good

Thereafter, to a brittle-dry life —

With air sucked of moisture

By the undisturbed sun beating on long vallies,

Braising all but the most stubborn dampness from it.

This was the new norm: a life of empty, thin air,

Unnoticed air — and unnoticed weather.

1962

Married, visiting relatives in Oklahoma.

Now it was real, not a memory.

That first night,

Unremembered humidity.

Soaking-wet sheets.

Limp curtains in front of open windows.

Unceasing rasping buzz of some insect

Dominating strangley fuzzy velvet night-air ...

"Cicadas"? What are those?

Sleep, just intermittent.

2012

Away from the Plains a few years;

Pulling into the parking lot in Indy,

Tires hot from the drive through Denver.

Opening the car door,

Being enveloped in deep, soft humidity,

Ears assaulted by Cicada-racket,

While a silent firefly briefly streaks in the woods,

Feeling joy.

It's another world

Across the mountains.