Solitary Hiker. Poem by dave lessard

I walk the hills that climb up though the canyon,
winding, bending, the trail uncurls;
in the distance, I see dust devils,
whirling, swirling, blowing, as they unfurl.
The river is a ribbon, coated now with silver,
as the setting sun shines down;
I am far removed from traffic,
far from the blinking lights of town.
The quiet of the dusk is peaceful,
nothing mocks the silence of my reverie;
a hawk rides on the gentle breezes,
there's only mountains as far as I can see.
The call of nature is my companion,
I'm enveloped in my slow-paced walk;
no need of something to remind me,
of useless chatter and mundane talk.
A solitary hiker, against a purple sky,
a silhouette from my shadow's cast;
a part of earth, in this, my journey,
knowing well, that it can never last.