South of the Clouds

A poem about stillness and the solitude of high places

it’s quiet in the woods today high up in the sky up here the spring snow stays long well into July

the snow lives on in drapes and drifts and shares the ground with brightening blooms

wildflowers glow in watercolors lavender, gold, flaming red

scent of spruce, loblollly pine wind steals in from western climes

it’s quiet in the woods today so tranquil on this peak no cars or planes, no one calling nothing more to seek

north of the river, south of the clouds I stay atop and dream on this lofty perch up near the sun a place soft and serene

Not far from Rocky Mountain National Park is a wild land with no human presence, not even overflights — and for reasons not clear to me, there are no birds, no birdsong. The only sound is the small river that runs through the meadows of the valley. Hiking the mountain here means navigating thick fallen timber with the only trails being moose trails and those guys must step pretty high. From the mountain summit the valley opens out in a view you could look on forever.