Standing on the watershed
of a century-old mine,
where thick ice paves
a surreal walkway
over tumbles of water.
The great, polished granite
that ushers this rindle
down the mountain crevices
is balanced
by skyfuls of evergreens
towering up the steeping slopes.
Winter birds - the juncos and flickers - survivors,
are hinting at things
with conspiratorial chirping.
And the wind
through winding tunnels in the earth
is moaning secrets
not meant for my naive ears.
The tissue-thin air
is hypnotic and dangerously freeing.
In this cold,
on this magical frozen stream,
at this altitude
a person could feel anything,
could think sacred thoughts
and soar into fairy tales
with eyes gently shut.
(c) Tashas Chinnock 2010
No comments:
Post a Comment