{"id":230,"date":"2023-06-11T19:43:07","date_gmt":"2023-06-11T23:43:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/?post_type=chapter&p=230"},"modified":"2023-06-25T22:20:23","modified_gmt":"2023-06-26T02:20:23","slug":"smallfields-of-desert-sands","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/chapter\/smallfields-of-desert-sands\/","title":{"raw":"Smallfields of Desert Sands","rendered":"Smallfields of Desert Sands"},"content":{"raw":"

Roxy, Russell.<\/em><\/p>\r\n

Everything that this old and grizzled\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\r\n

war horse was, is, could be\u2013<\/em><\/p>\r\n

I owe it to you.<\/em><\/p>\r\n

Thank you.<\/em><\/p>\r\n \r\n\r\nDeep within the frozen woods,\r\n\r\nan axe finds its home and a tree meets its end.\r\n\r\nA wayward soul, lost and angry,\r\n\r\nleft alone to face himself, his melancholy slowly burying him.\r\n\r\nThe forest sleeps under the blanket of cold and darkness.\r\n\r\nDamned he feels in his rage,\r\n\r\nthat which broke hearts and said goodbye to love,\r\n\r\nwhere he would find naught but pain and solitude.\r\n\r\nSuffering perpetually until\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\ndaybreak.\r\n\r\nIt was the voice of the Sun\r\n\r\nechoing from Smallfields of sand and light.\r\n\r\nThey carved their way into his spirit,\r\n\r\ngracing a frigid core with their warmth.\r\n\r\nLove would seep into his bones,\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nmending scars of the heart\r\n\r\nneither man nor medicine could heal.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThey taught him what it was to love,\r\n\r\nto be<\/em> love,\r\n\r\nas their laughter and kinship echoed\r\n\r\ninto memories of nights danced away amongst\r\n\r\nthe pouring rain in those gleaming canyons,\r\n\r\nwhich had nurtured two spirits born of love.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThose desert sands housed hundreds of nights\r\n\r\ncamping with beloved family.\r\n\r\nLessons of faith, and science, and art, and loving joy were taught\r\n\r\nto budding saplings\r\n\r\nraised by two great trees of light,\r\n\r\nbranches that carry leaves of wisdom, joy, empathy and compassion,\r\n\r\na forest of community providing oasis amongst a canyon of apathy.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThose glowing lights had found his heart and given him home.\r\n\r\nThis grizzled and hardened man, once alone, found comfort and\r\n\r\npeace in prayer and joy,\r\n\r\nin song and tender stories with heads on one another\u2019s shoulders.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nTears rained down from a lifetime of pain, dammed up behind his heart.\r\n\r\nHow this old war horse was ever worthy of such kindness still\r\n\r\nescapes his battered mind,\r\n\r\nbut he would never scorn or waste this precious gift,\r\n\r\nthat which gave him a sunrise of peace, ending a seemingly\r\n\r\nendless storm\u2013\r\n\r\nA light to blot out the darkness that would have swallowed him whole.\r\n\r\n \r\n\r\nThere is no way I could ever thank you enough.\r\n\r\nI could write to you a thousand times and hug you both a thousand more.\r\n\r\nThe methods of my gratitude are as boundless as the love you\u2019ve shown me.\r\n\r\nThis love you gave to a frozen heart\u2013\r\n\r\nit melted me at my core.","rendered":"

Roxy, Russell.<\/em><\/p>\n

Everything that this old and grizzled\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

war horse was, is, could be\u2013<\/em><\/p>\n

I owe it to you.<\/em><\/p>\n

Thank you.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Deep within the frozen woods,<\/p>\n

an axe finds its home and a tree meets its end.<\/p>\n

A wayward soul, lost and angry,<\/p>\n

left alone to face himself, his melancholy slowly burying him.<\/p>\n

The forest sleeps under the blanket of cold and darkness.<\/p>\n

Damned he feels in his rage,<\/p>\n

that which broke hearts and said goodbye to love,<\/p>\n

where he would find naught but pain and solitude.<\/p>\n

Suffering perpetually until<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

daybreak.<\/p>\n

It was the voice of the Sun<\/p>\n

echoing from Smallfields of sand and light.<\/p>\n

They carved their way into his spirit,<\/p>\n

gracing a frigid core with their warmth.<\/p>\n

Love would seep into his bones,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

mending scars of the heart<\/p>\n

neither man nor medicine could heal.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They taught him what it was to love,<\/p>\n

to be<\/em> love,<\/p>\n

as their laughter and kinship echoed<\/p>\n

into memories of nights danced away amongst<\/p>\n

the pouring rain in those gleaming canyons,<\/p>\n

which had nurtured two spirits born of love.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Those desert sands housed hundreds of nights<\/p>\n

camping with beloved family.<\/p>\n

Lessons of faith, and science, and art, and loving joy were taught<\/p>\n

to budding saplings<\/p>\n

raised by two great trees of light,<\/p>\n

branches that carry leaves of wisdom, joy, empathy and compassion,<\/p>\n

a forest of community providing oasis amongst a canyon of apathy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Those glowing lights had found his heart and given him home.<\/p>\n

This grizzled and hardened man, once alone, found comfort and<\/p>\n

peace in prayer and joy,<\/p>\n

in song and tender stories with heads on one another\u2019s shoulders.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Tears rained down from a lifetime of pain, dammed up behind his heart.<\/p>\n

How this old war horse was ever worthy of such kindness still<\/p>\n

escapes his battered mind,<\/p>\n

but he would never scorn or waste this precious gift,<\/p>\n

that which gave him a sunrise of peace, ending a seemingly<\/p>\n

endless storm\u2013<\/p>\n

A light to blot out the darkness that would have swallowed him whole.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There is no way I could ever thank you enough.<\/p>\n

I could write to you a thousand times and hug you both a thousand more.<\/p>\n

The methods of my gratitude are as boundless as the love you\u2019ve shown me.<\/p>\n

This love you gave to a frozen heart\u2013<\/p>\n

it melted me at my core.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":114,"menu_order":12,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":["austin-lynds"],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[50],"contributor":[93],"license":[],"class_list":["post-230","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless","contributor-austin-lynds"],"part":77,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/230","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/114"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/230\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":325,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/230\/revisions\/325"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/77"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/230\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=230"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=230"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=230"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.upei.ca\/artsreview-xii\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=230"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}