“All of our ancestors give us the precious gift of life.
Do we use it wisely? Do we use it well?
Do we make a name for ourselves and for our children of which we can be proud?”
Laurence Overmire

An errant breeze
Born from
The passing night wind
Rustles the new leaves
Of the seeding
Cottonwoods before
Lightly ruffling my hair
And finding its way
Through the soft,
Worn fibers
Of my night gown.
Far in the distance
I watch lightning play
Upon the snow-capped peaks
Of the front range,
Followed shortly thereafter by
The grumble of thunder
And the yips
Of prowling coyotes.
Somewhere out there
Beneath the moonless,
Starlit sky
Our cattle are settling into
Lush, spring pastures
Veined with creeks
Swollen with melted
Snow
While you and your men
Take your shifts
As lookouts,
And I remain here,
To watch over
And safeguard
The homestead.
Sweat, blood, and tears
Have been shed, and
The unrelenting work rewarded
With the reclaiming of
Your family's heritage,
Once again becoming a legacy
Befitting the proud generations
Gone before us,
As well as the new one
You will learn of
When you return.

c. 2025