The Staircase

Evening mist rises off mountain stream

Delicate wind shivers moss laden limbs

Pine needles plink plunk through huckleberry

They land soundless on a cushioned moss earth floor

Engulfed by aliveness, this place called old growth

Bears its mark of constant shed and regrowth

The cathedral of cedar and firs dappled in celadon light

Sheltering a blue tent with husband and daughter

Yet, it’s a false sense of silence for the river roars

Builds each moment in clamorous crescendos

I am near drowning in the racket and swaying

The forest robs me of my equilibrium and hearing

Tilt my chin towards still bright rusty mountain peaks

Draw upon the great jagged heights for steadying

At that moment, the rushing waters spoke plain sense

Becoming a thousand joyful voices sobbing relief

The cloak of river words poured soothingly through me

Their voices rained down soaking my deepest parts

“We are here, have been waiting, you are never alone”

One thought on “The Staircase

  1. I am not sure how you managed to transmit this on such a visceral level. Reading your words-memories I could see, hear and feel this. It is a wilderness made words.

    Liked by 1 person

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