Out of Alturas

By C.D.Courter
From the book "Shasta Cycle, a Journey by Bicycle"

                        Out of Alturas



Gray and cold,         the wind ahead;
                   my rain suit flaps in the passing air.
The morning sun would warm my back,
       were it shining.

Down the valley I go,
       though it may be up for all I know;
       the River here is marshy and meandering,
               cottonwoods line the loamy banks.
The road climbs a terrace to rimrock
     and suddenly a cactus confronts
           memories of green meadows, clear pools.
This day may be short 
                         after all.

Gone behind are the red brick buildings painted white.
Gone behind is the old station.
Gone behind are dreams of ambition, given way to memories
                of life's passage.
Somewhere in this valley, a log schoolhouse speaks of history.
               Tall poplars shade its empty doorway
                      and its rooms are filled with autumn leaves.

At last this bicycle seems like home, like a snail's shell, like a
Winnebago
        for one.
                   At the Pit River Bridge, west of Canby,
It leans against a guard rail, laden with bags, red and blue.
          Another mountain pass to climb,
                 Another fear to pass through.


                              C. D. Courter




(c)1995-2003 C. D. Courter
All rights reserved.
No commercial use allowed without
written permission from the author.