Monday, February 02, 2009

On Seeing Golden Mountains


A damp chill of flooded lowland farms
Seeps into my boots
Ears turning red in the biting cold
Delivered by a threatening gray sky
I am struck suddenly calm and dumb
As the mountains catch the winter sun
Cold light, but oh so regal and gold
Afraid to breathe, lest they fall
I stand awed by the might of those icy peaks
The world seems to stop
Poised and perfect

But to stand thus enthralled by the heights
Gold in the crystalline light
I must turn my back on the sea
Treacherous and immense
Chomping and chewing rocks of ages
Into shifting sand
The hungry, patient sea

This precarious winter will recede
I tell myself as I stamp my feet
And feel them tingle like steel pins
But the return of warm languid evenings
Seems less certain than in younger days
Shall we see such springs and summers again?
We shall see—we shall see

But at least I have seen the mountains
Caught in gold
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Credits: Collage and Poetry by Jay Larsen
No one except a mountain knows a mountain's heart.
No one except the sun follows the sun's course.

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