Gracias

On the road to Bodie

we come upon a meadow

in the sage-covered hills.

I ask you if those shapes are rocks

ejecta from an ancient volcano.

You say they look too uniform. 

For some reason I stop.

Climbing out of the Jeep

we face each other

mouthe in unison 

Bells. 

Hundreds of them, tinkling 

on meandering sheep. 

For a long time we stand, listening.

No sound but bells

upon the crystalline air.

Soon the gurgle of water

joins the sacred lilt. 

We struggle for words.

Later, you call it radiant silence. 

We wave to the shepherd

shout buenos dias.

Alone save for two dogs

and a thousand sheep,

he waves back.

Does he grow weary

of the sound?

I find it hard to leave

And whisper gracias

to the magnificent day.