He’s a steward of the beasts.
A shepherd of his flock, at least.
Taken up his given role.
Rekindling ancestral souls.
The steel, the wood, the beaten hands.
Among the frozen twisting stands.
From deep behind a hanging brow.
He scans the edge and keeps a vow.
On a range, into the wild.
Years gone by are reconciled.
A simple ask to meet today.
A rarity to hear him say,
A word, a noise, a cough, a peep.
Ruminations run too deep.
The mourn, the dance, the life and death.
There’s gratitude for every breath.
Met him once and then again.
He’s with me, not as a friend.
Lending depth to these pursuits.
Getting closer to the roots.
That savior of the barren scape.
Where I immerse and not escape.
To meet a call, to find a means.
Beneath the thing that it seems.
A bringing forth, a change of hands.
As restless nature now demands.
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