A Love Letter To The Grand Valley

Photo by Jeff Heaton

Come gather near and hear the tale
Of a place both wild and kind —
Where mesas rise and horses roam,
And rest is what I’d find.

The flattops watch with softened gaze,
Like grandmothers at rest —
Her silence stitched with ancient care,
A calm against my chest.

Mount Garfield stood with jagged pride,
A sentinel grown stern.
His shadow held the ache I brought,
And taught me not to turn.

You cradled us in red-rock arms,
With hush and canyon hymn.
Through winding roads of Monument stone,
You softened what had been.

We watched the wild horses crest the ridge,
Unbridled, fierce and wide.
They moved like prayers across the land —
A freedom we couldn’t hide.

We found a parish with open arms,
A fierce and faithful few,
Who taught us how love holds its ground
When storms come breaking through.

My body, once a stranger’s shell,
Found rhythm in the land.
Each run along the river’s edge
Was joy I hadn’t planned.

Through vineyards thick with dusty grace,
Through snow and desert flame,
I failed, I laughed, I bruised, I healed —
And never once felt shame.

The apricots hung low and sweet,
Their branches bowed with gold.
The peaches ripened in the sun,
A story softly told.

We tasted time and learned to wait,
To trust in slow delight.
Each harvest sang of something more
Than what just meets the sight.

Junction, you held us close
When life was stripped and bare —
You met us with a gentle truth
And with more grace than we can share.

We leave your dirt but not your hold —
Collected from sacred ground.
The curse, they say, ensures return,
But we see promise in what’s bound.

And though we go to new unknowns,
Your dust still coats our shoes.
We carry all your rooted grace —
Your memory, a muse.

So here’s to you, our western home,
Where healing had its start —
A valley carved not just in stone,
But deep within our heart.

Originally published in the fall 2025 issue of Spoke+Blossom.