The Mullan Road
by Teal Sowers
Sanguine sunlight
softly spilled over the Sun River Valley.
A lone hawk soared high above
searching for some morsel to devour.
I watched its distinct shadow sweep the land
until my eye was drawn away.
Stringy, waving grasses set off a pair of ruts in the ground,
the Mullan Road.
Thoughts of the "olden days" flooded my mind:
the thunder of gunfights,
wagon wheels creaking under the weight of goods,
horse hooves steadily drumming the land.
That trail beheld many sights
and felt innumerable sensations.
Now it lies in a farmer's field,
framed in barbed wire.
Square Butte, its guardian,
is ever watching. the Mullan Road
and the secrets of those traders who traveled through
are forever etched in the earth of the Sun River Valley.