From missteps of good intentions
The wanderer became unwelcome
In his trek through gray-brown desert.
Sagebrush began to whistle insults as he walked,
The wind was unrelenting, gritty, oppressive,
And a cold spring rainstorm pelted his face,
Wearing him out,
Weighing him down,
Chafing his every step.
Eventually he stumbled on a downslope, and fell,
Landing hard upon a crooked rock,
Injured and unsure.
After a moment of uncertainty
Tall and fierce,
Knowing it would take infinitely more
To break his resolute, western spirit.