FALL

In the fall of our lives,
I wonder if we, too, burn brightly
before we fade.

The tree drops its leaves
and waits through winter
to renew once more, come spring.

We, first small grow and are nourished
create and give to the world
nourish others
then fade and are gone.

I hope, in the final fading..
we burst forth with color
feel joy for our lives
delight in our creations
and touch hearts once more.

In the meantime
I love the changing seasons
and renew myself
each passing year.

BRUNO

Bruno is visiting
laying on my foot,
chewing bones on my foot,
biting my foot,
I have to move him off.

He jumps up to bark
at the neighbors' barking
mutts next door,
at the fight across the street
at midnight,
at coyotes yapping
at six A.M.
Now he snoozes.

Bored, he talks...
makes these sounds
in his throat telling you
his troubles.
I laugh.
Can't help it.

My dogs have gone
to the Great Beyond
I am content
tending granddogs.

BUTCH CASSIDY'S CABIN

This picture came out in a sleek magazine by Zion's Bank last week. Circleville folk decided to make this cabin into a stop for tourists and fixed up the cabin, added pictures, redid the plaster between the logs, put up a picnic table and opened up. When all the pictures had been stolen, the chink removed from between the logs, and people began chipping souvineers from the logs, they closed again. The picture shows the cabin when it was fixed. Circleville is less than 30 miles from Panguitch. I could ride my Old Lady Bike there. (but won't)
I was in Cannonville talking to people about stories of the past and they told me about Laura Johnson Babs who rode with Butch Cassidy's bunch. I can find no history about her actually being part of the gang, but who knows? I like a good story.

OUTLAW LADY LAURA

Take our own outlaw Butch Cassidy
From up Piute way
Had the roughest, toughest Wild Bunch
Or so they always say.

But did you know Lady Laura
Who rode the Chisholm Trail?
She could keep up with The Bunch
Side-saddle, without fail.

Her heart she gave to Billy Moore.
Her trading post drew outlaw fame
At the head of the Paria
Bandits knew her name.

She rode by horse to Texas
Some twenty times, they say.
She was there when banks
were robbed, and she took her pay.

The story goes that Bill
Along with Butch and Dance
Robbed Kanab Bank and said goodby
Taking an awful chance.

Laura waited long and watched
For Billy to return to her.
She rode three times to Texas
Sticking her horse like a burr.

Her love was gone. He was lost.
She waited through the years.
No one came. No news was heard
To quiet her deathly fears.

Finally she wed another
The years went slowly by...
Then one day Billy Babs returned.
She met him with a cry.

She divorced her husband
When divorce was grim.
She left with Billy.
She married him.

This outlaw woman's behavior
shocked the good folks there.
Her name was not mentioned.
No one seemed to care.

Not long after, she returned.
To live her last years alone.
She couldn't live with the outlaw.
She wouldn't go bck home.

So the story died, a smothered death
But I'mn reviving it, ya see?
All this attention given old Butch
Ought to be shared, seems to me.

With the side-saddle rider, Miss Laura
Starry-eyed in love she fell,
And rode with the gang called The Wild Bunch
on their midnight rides to hell.

OLD LADY BIKE

My new mode of travel
now grandkids are in school
not needing tending
and I need to run to the
post office or store,
is the Old Lady Bike.

Now some people I know
wouldn't be caught dead
on the 'adult tricycle',
but I like returning
to childhood as I
pump around town
looking at flowers
checking if a new pup
is around...buying
a couple of things to
haul around.

My son and grandchildren
bought me the bike
for my birthday,
the kids thinking
I could haul
water and food when
we rode bikes to
the park -
not that I might
fall off on my head
from my 25 year old dog.

I like not using gas,
making my knees work
to become more limber,
feeling my heart race
trying to go too fast uphill:
living longer.

Since I have no pride
about appearing old
and peddle around town,
other older people
appear on bikes
peddling...oh not the men
just the ladies on their
Old Lady Bikes.

THE QUILT WALK

At the Panguitch Quilt Walk Festival 2003
this quilt of all the people killed in 9/11
was on display.
It impacted me of just how many died.
Tears fell. Tears fell.

I wrote his poem for the Panguitch Quilt Walk:

How about that famous quilt-walk
You hear about in Pang-town
Where men walked over the mountain
Quilt after quilt they lay down.

The whole town ran out of flour,
Not a drop did they have to eat.
Snow as too high and deep for a horse.
Men would have to go on feet.

Seven walked over the mountain,
All the way to Parowan.
Each step they took on a quilt
Was one more step toward town.

They brought back the flour
so the town wouldn't die,
Quilts thrown one by one
Back over the mountain..NO LIE!

Those men did save the families.
Panguitch remembers that day.
They are heroes of the past,
Honored in a special way.

But...
What about those quilt-making women?
Praise them to the sky.
For without those strong, well-made quilts
The mountain would have been too high!
-Ann King Reynolds

TIED QUILTS

I love making a quilt
putting it together
creating a design
from scraps or
material specially bought.
Tying, tying, tying.

I have quilted, yes
and my respect for the
real quilters of the
world grows
when I look on
one-inch square
pieces or mosiacs
beyond belief.
I bow to those
quilters...

and go on enjoying
what I do.
putting something
together new.
my daughter did
this M in high school
thirty years ago.
I finished it
thinking she could
be warm camping.

I am thinking now
of cartoons and
quilts for my
grandkids
pictures
using new technology
and all the possiblilities
used today.

Sending off
coverings of love
once more.

THE GARDENER

His leg kills him to stand on,
but he gathered rock
off the mountain
until he had enough
for the volcanic rock planter.

Dirt was brought in
for the wood chips to top.
He loaded up slate rock
in Salt Gulch,
then wondered why
his leg was swollen
the next day.

He's planted his garden
of onion, potatoes, and
asparagras.
Pods grew on his
potato vines that could
only be seed.
Neither of us has seen
potato seed before!

He still has spasms from
his neck surgery
and his arms feel numb,
but he dug up each plot
for Black-eyed Susans,
Osteopermam Hybrid,
Gazanias, Russian Sage,
Dianthus, and Roses
creating beauty.

Now awaiting eye surgery,
a gas bubble to heal a tear
he plots what he'll
do next summer...
like go to King's Pasture
and put in the pole fence.

FOREST FIRE

Picture in Richfield Reaper

I am moved by
this red ball sun
glowing through smoke
billowing up from
burning forests

Red glow above
crackling flame
and blackened trees
bend into dead
shapes.

Fear catches
as fire leaps,
surrounding
life and swallowing
breath..
Mystery glows.

We discover
the power,
the danger,
and beauty of
Mother Earth.

Oh, lost treasures!

THOMPSON LEDGE

A painting by Linda Lu King

We climbed with bare feet
walking up the cracks
of Thompson Ledge
higher and higher.
The most dangerous spot
was creeping around the ledge
to sit in the hole
at the top.

We could view Boulder,
hear moms yelling for kids,
see who was riding down
the road from Hall's Store.
See who was at King's.

We would decide
to climb on up top
or back down
sliding over the
rounded sections
to Cedars and Pine
below.

This is my painting
to share.
You cannot have it.
Linda can't have it.
She painted for me
a childhood
memory
of fun, laughter,
and stone.
I love how she
colored it real.