North Peak It is raining in the valley and The snow pack melts into clear pools and rivulets That soak deep into wooden frames of homes and bones and Everything is damp and cold and rotting. Above the town A belt of clouds encircles the waists of mountains and Hugs the moisture into the hillside. Above there still The sky breaks clear and It’s windy and brisk with aliveness. I alone contemplate The vast expanse of spreading white A scar torn from the arms of forests and descending Carve serpentine curls through beads of frosted ice and snow Molded through freeze and thaw into Tiny grains of crystalline sand. And Higher still towards the sky Clouds cling to conical boughs of pine trees Snagged like strands of cotton webbing slowly spreading and Holding the cold silent stillness in To feminine contours of distant mountaintops Soft fresh cloudsnow deposited in their wake. It is still winter here. 3/31/2014 deniseporterkemp.wordpress
Posted on: Wed, 02 Apr 2014 01:30:38 +0000
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