Regionalism (something a little different…)

April 20, 2021

Geologists will call this place “Driftless”,

But it defies term, time, and space, Driftless.

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A death below the ice hath no sting here,

Yet all around we find its trace: Driftless.

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Knotted oak holding court upon the bluff,

Trout stream free of any millrace: Driftless.

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Deep spirituality of nations

Carved into the soft sandstone face: Driftless.

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Now, agricultural centers decline,

But we cultivate an art-based Driftless.

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Here, we are living the examined life;

No better word for this pace than “Driftless.”

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(Spring has arrived for good this time, we think,

But we’ll split more wood just in case, Driftless.)

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The city dwellers drive quixotically

Westward in their Audis to chase Driftless.

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Meanwhile, I’m knee-deep in the river.

With my whole being, I embrace Driftless.

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Living here, I become one with all things.

I am not myself: I am Grace, Driftless.

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©2021 Grace J. Vosen