I have memories
of a light blue sky,
patched with high clouds,
above rocky mountains
that has shed their caps
of white, winter snow
and now sat in hues
of deep greys, blues
and an assortment of greens
below the tree line.
I remember those mountains
in my bones.
That solid, immovable foundation
once abandoned
for this high, sub-arctic plain,
left me exposed,
vulnerable.
It has been more than 20 years
and still I wonder
in awe and some fear
at this huge sky
that reaches on forever.
Beauty, lit with colors
of a thousand brush strokes;
now somehow less impressive
and still inspiring at the same time.
I sometimes feel
like a mouse in a field,
knowing the owl is near.
Those old bones of the Earth
are still visible on a clear day.
They are still my bones,
embedded deep within me.
Every time I return
to those familiar forests,
as the land changes
to meet the sky;
I feel more at home
than I can ever remember.
Safer than a locked door,
comforted by the eminence
of my history.
The part of my past
that still holds,
calls me home
and surrounds me
with arms that reach skyward.
Unbreakable.
Unmoving.
As unchangeable as the past.
Indifferent to the present,
accepting what is to come;
for what is time to the mountains?
HG – 2016
