A Trapper's Rest

Drawn from Journal of a Trapper by Osborne Russell
The Rocky Mountains: 1843

The smoke that's rising from my dwindling fire
Of wild sage and pine is so much sweeter
Than incense in some church back in the states
Locked in convention's brick and metal gates.

I spent the day in curing my fresh kill
Of elk and feasted till I had my fill
On meat and duck eggs, pennycress with burdock
Reclining on these elevated rocks

From which I think that I could snare a star
The way I do the beaver in the river.
The thieving wolverine calls from below
On lonely paths where once the herds of buffalo

Would wander over towards the Yellowstone.
Out here a man can truly be his own
Away from all the leaches of the city.
I light my pipe, and rest here peacefully.

Santiago del Dardano Turann

Archived 08/14/2010