Mexican Canyon Trestel

The old rail-bed climbs, twisting through the trees.

Douglas Firs and Ponderosa Pines chat

With the Aspens and Oaks in shorter groves

As the wind blows. Their intermittent shade

Pools in blue cooling spots where we pause, rest

Luxuriating in the breeze that climbs

Out of the Tularossa basin to

Carry away the sweat of our effort,

As we slake our thirst from crackling plastic.

“It’s just around the bend,” I say, “Perhaps.”

“I’m glad we came,” you reply, “Look at that.”

And so I do, loving the way the wind

Lifts your silvery gray hair framing your

Face in gentle waves that you brush away.

Thirst abated we move on from one view

To the next with me wondering, will the

Thunder catch us in the open again,

Laughing as we dodge the fat pregnant drops,

Their day trip from the valley completed.

Perhaps the tall Ponderosas will catch

Trailing skirts of the cloud just long enough.

Then we see it, a gray, graceful curve thrown

Out across the canyon by engineers

And laborers, a marriage of thought, sweat

And pine spanning a dark problematic

Place with an elegant exercise in

Geometry. A gentle hand finds mine

The view is great I’m glad we came this way.