River Borne of Mountain's Tears
Near the summit, up a gully we hike,
with the Sun beating down incessantly
and the sky blue as black.
Our boots slip and slide in the slush–
the snow is yielding to the Sun.
The Sun beats down.
Out from under patches of snow
run trickles of water,
running together.
Run–
run down
opposite the way we climb,
run toward the trees far below.
Leave the rocks.
The gullys join hands.
The water meets its own kind.
A stream is woven from many strands
bounding down the Mountain.
Into the trees!
green, to feed
no time for that
in a rush to the Sea.
Through the forest past a hiker
knelt in dappled shadows.
Swirl and dodge his seeking cup,
stop me not!
Ricochet
from rock to rock.
Tumble
down the bouldered channels,
play with splash
in new-found freedom.
Currents join to augment its breadth,
chuckles turn to laughs to hollers of a
River Raging!
The torrent flies into the air
roaring with delight
as a thousand cameras click.
The droplets part, dance with the air in twisting sheets–
a windblown veil draped to the canyon bottom.
From the moss-covered rocks the spray collects its own
and renews its surge to the Sea.
To the Sea,
to the Sea,
forever from the Mountains to the Sea.
Drawings, poems & music © 1986 David Erskine
info@pineshadow.com
Oakland, California