A Harsh Land, A beautiful Land

A land of droughts and flooding rains,
Of raging fires and flowing rivers.
A land of extremes,
A harsh land,
An old land,
But it is my land,
A land of beauty.

A harsh land,
A land of droughts,
Which bleaches the green from the landscape.
The grass is rarely green,
Only various shades of brown.
The trees are never green,
But shades of olive-brown.
Yet this drought ridden land
Holds a certain beauty,
That is never far from my mind.

A harsh land,
A land of flooding rains.
Rains and winds,
Which strip the hills of earth.
The bones, the stones,
Piercing the earth,
There is not enough soil to hide them.
The stones,
Worn by winds,
Shaped by winds,
Boulders capping the hills,
Sheer faces of rocks
Some held up only by the tree roots,
Set to topple, yet never doing so.
But even this has its beauty,
That is never far from my mind.

A harsh land,
A land of raging fires,
Burning bright and hot.
Raging through the Landscape,
Burning acres upon acres at a time.
Whole forests left in cinders,
Only skeletons left of trees.
But from this death comes life,
And beauty better than before.
And that is never far from my mind.

A harsh land,
A land of flowing rivers.
Some narrow and fast,
Some wide and slow,
Some no longer flowing at all,
Dried up and waiting for rain.
My land has raging rivers,
trickling brooks and gurgling creeks.
Some cut into the ground
Creating gorges,
Some deep, some shallow
Some wide, some narrow.
All these rivers, all these creeks,
Hold beauty in their waters though,
And that is never far from my mind.

A harsh land,
But a beautiful land.
Give me some time
To show you its wonders,
To show you its beauty.
And when I am done,
You will then find,
That the beauty is never far from your mind.

 

I made this up while riding through the countryside around my home. I’ve always loved it.

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