*A very rough-draft of a poem*
The mountains felt like walls when I arrived in Utah ten years ago.
Closing me into the small valley the stony faces confined me to a foreign land.
The gray fortresses, so different from the green fields I knew, were my isolated tower.
Here, hidden in the valley I was both trapped and protected–
trapped in a new life I didn’t ask for,
and protected from the old life I escaped.
The rough surfaces changed with the seasons-
reflecting the passage of time like a calendar’s pages:
green in summer, brown in fall, and white in winter-
as the surfaces changed so did I.
The walls that defined my space echoed my mind.
As the years passed I was no longer unnerved by the sentinels’ presence,
I was disquieted by their absence.