At Night on Winterstar

Copyright 2008

There is quietness here
on this pinnacle at six thousand feet
where balsams sway in breezes
from the west
and speak to the weary traveler
in airy tones redolent
with scents of
the mountain forest at night.

The tent puffs and ripples,
the wind insistent now
the storytelling takes on
an urgent air
though the night is long
and we have eternity
here on top of this soaring
granite mound
amidst the forested giants
craggy and old.

Speaking in whispers now the wind
seems resigned
as though just another mortal
has lain here and listened and will
do naught
but listen
it sounds weary
like an old woman slowly sweeping
an endless corridor.

It sighs with
exasperation as it sweeps across
the ridges
and tumbles into the valley
and the rain comes with a soft patter
laughing at the wind
as it has since creation
crying also
for the mortal who lies
wondering at it all
wondering for a moment
only
until his thoughts are stilled
and he lies within the solid earth.

And the wind and the rain and the mountain
continue
until that momentous day
when the rocks melt
and time ceases
and the wind learns
what it means
to be mortal.
and the rain laughs
no more