Tuesday, 23 August 2011

Really High

Sky the color of granite
Pikas crying from jumble of rock
Horseflies slow enough to slap into the infinite mountain air
A vastness which can only be understood from this high up
As the last patches of snow melt, i wonder what has gotten into me
Drudging all summer long in the bottomlands, but within an hour
All that disappears up here in the highcountry
As i watch Engelmann spruce sway to the melody of wind,
it seems okay if I never attend another dance party
No need for anything synthetic (not even Gore Tex) in a place like this
Just my hands to cup water from the spring to drink
My human animal ingenuity for the creation of shelter
and there's even sufficient food to eat if you know how to id the plants correctly
Beauty in the form of purple monkey flower
Love of self even in solitude,
and bloody harmony...where one form is reconfigured into another
through "the divine ritual of feeding."