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,



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.



As unchangeable as the past.

Indifferent to the present,

accepting what is to come;

for what is time to the mountains?


HG – 2016

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