Commentary and poetry by Robert Escandon, Sumner Newscow — A few years ago I found myself on an early morning drive in Western Kansas near the Colorado State Line.  My route took me along a four-lane highway that stretched to the horizon behind and in front of me and carried no traffic at that early hour. 

Robert Escandon

There were no houses to be seen, in any direction, just an endless expanse of wheat fields and a colossal blue sky.  I was alone and had this immensity of space all to myself.  For someone who lived most of his life in crowded Britain, the scenery was inspiring.

  After driving an hour or so, a bridge appeared spanning a small river.  It was one of these flat concrete deals with a three foot parapet (bridge barrier) on either side.  I was early for my intended appointment so had time to kill.  This being so — and 200 yards further down the highway — I stopped and decided to reverse the car (yes, reverse 200 yards on a four lane highway) and look over the bridge at the river below. 

I shut off the engine, poured a coffee from my thermos flask, got out of the car and sat (with legs dangling) on the bridge parapet.  It was one of those rare moments, in a busy life, to take “time-off” and simply enjoy being alive.

I was struck by the silence!  No traffic noise, no lawnmowers, no voices, no “anything” apart from enjoyable loneliness.  The concrete parapet was still warm from the sunlight it had absorbed the previous day and it would be absorbing more as the new day got going.  The sun was up about 5 degrees above the horizon and was already warming the land.  I felt free!  It occurred to me that I could stand up and yell had I wanted and that would concern no one because I was utterly alone.  I looked at my watch and figured there was another 30 minutes to waste in this lovely place.  Leaning over the parapet I looked into the river and watched a couple of carp holding place in the current between the bright green streamer-weed.  A heron stood near the shallows about 50 yards downstream, as motionless as a statue, while smaller birds wove their way just a few feet above the water surface, snatching invisible insects on the wing.

  Still no cars or trucks had appeared to disturb the glorious silence.  I took a small pillow from my car, placed it on the parapet and laid myself down.  The gentle warmth from the concrete, coupled with the silence was bliss.  I made a big effort to stay awake because I had no intention of rolling off the parapet and joining the carp below!  Eventually, my watch told me to get up and get driving to my appointment.

  The feeling of that brief, lonely, reverie stayed with me all day and prompted my brain to exercise itself with an attempt at poetry.  I am a mathematician and engineer, so composing poetry has not exactly been on my agenda of “things to do.”  I had, from time to time, read poetry and enjoyed it, however, I was always daunted by the poet’s clever use of words and figured that was not something I could emulate.  BUT, I had so enjoyed my eccentric time on the bridge that I felt motivated to “give it a try.”

  Since then, I have found writing bits of poetry to be therapeutic.  I am usually reluctant to share them, because I am no William Wordsworth, so I keep them for myself.  My wife, who is an English major, describes them as “free-verse” which is a gentle way of telling me that lines, meter and rhyming are not necessarily paramount to the poem.  I good poet would probably describe them as doggerel !!!!!!  Taking a deep breath of trepidation, I’ll share the poem I wrote that day:

 A Kansas morning, dawning,

with warm, sunflower glow

pushing against the horizon.

 

The dry breeze beckons and ruffles the wheat

rooted in black soil

on which our forebear, farmers, toiled.

 

Waves of wheat, from west to east

bow and ripple in the heat.

Moving, vast, as ocean waves

lapping to a gentle beat.

 

Now the sun has fully risen.

Glorious heat and energy given

to ripen the land.

 

The earth breathes.

and fears recede

into that great,

swallowing,  space.

 

What part am I,

in this glorious splendor,

except a contender,

for a few short years,

of presence here!

 

No need to think or dwell,

on matters that concern might spell!

Just stand and drench in the prairie-land.

Bathe warm rays of life and light.

 

For night — has not yet come.

———

Robert Escandon is a former Wellington High School math teacher, who was born and raised in Great Britain. He periodically submits columns to Sumner Newscow. 

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