Sunday, June 29, 2014

Finding New Home on the Mountain


Look mom, a sunflower!
Dirt mapped the child's face
Making trails to her smile 
A balsam root flower
Growing from her fist

Dark clouds claimed the valley below
The girl's mom, frowning the child's 
Flower to the ground, "a storm is coming" 
A sharp cold breeze turning them around.

I'm breathing my legs up the mountain, 
Running like the growing wind 
Is blowing through me, 
Headed to the mountaintop
When I pass a small girl and her mom, 
Headed to the safety of the valley. 

They look through me: 
I'm the breeze afterall, 
Blowing up the trail, invisible and strong.
The storm reaches the peak 
We crash, a wave cresting 
Sweeping me down Patterson mountain 

The storm paints its portrait on the trail
Each raindrop meeting a growing river:
Transformed into a larger picture of itself
My legs like the rain meet the ground,
Faster and faster and suddenly

I'm the balsam flower, discarded, propelled by the strong wind
Swept free by the river
Caught in the storm
Finding new home on the mountain

 

3 comments:

  1. Life is meant to be lived in very, small, beautiful parts
    like each golden petal on the balsam root flower.
    radiate, unfold, stretch, and capture
    every rain drop.

    For isn't our flesh, like that of the balsam, mostly water?
    Millions of raindrops, gathered and formed, spent and replenished,
    lifting like clouds, to high peaks,
    settling to the valley like a lazy morning mist.

    The memory of a flower that once grew from her fist,
    will take seed in her heart, as her smile did in yours.
    Hers nurtured by visions of strong legs and focused breath
    running up the mountain past her.
    And she will learn that sometimes,
    during a storm,
    the mountain top is the safest place to be.
    Here, where one can see the blue behind the gray,
    and far from raging river's rain fed torrents.

    It is nature who teaches us,
    that those who notice the details, see the big picture more clearly.

    So we keep the images of those very, small, beautiful parts,
    close to our hearts as a handful of seeds,
    to scatter,
    grow,
    and bloom.

    ReplyDelete
  2. So lovely. Thanks for sharing.

    ReplyDelete

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