Poem: ‘Uncle Earl’s Wind River Ranch’
Walter McDonald, 23 January 1997
It’s salt, not rain, fat elk cows need. Uncle Earl hauls salt blocks up from town and dumps them, wedged by boulders licking tongues can’t tumble. Elk wander down to graze his slope. Wild elk never nod, big bellies swaying, calves on their way, most snow melted that far down in gusty winds that wild. Uncle Earl looks up maybe once a day, takes elk for granted and boulders above...
