Not a Bad Traffic Jam

Not too long back my dad and I were in Glacier Park clipping along a trail double time trying to catch a shuttle that would take us back to camp. The last bus of the day was just twenty minutes coming, and though we could see the road snaking through a yonder pass, it seemed as though it should be bigger than model set size so we begrudgingly started jogging. The hill traversed grew steep; around a bend appeared two mountain goats ambling along in the same direction as us. It was a cute baby goat and a shaggy parent, exciting indeed, but we had a ride to catch and they were walking at about the speed honey slides down a window pane. The trail sides were too precipitous to scramble around and the closer we got to them the slower they went until the adult stopped, turned around and stared. I had a vision of being butted off the mountain side so fell back. By then Dad was looking pursed lipped at the pass and nearly hopping. He reached down and picked up a rock.

“We might have to resort to this,” he said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

But suddenly the goats were stepping off the trail! He unleashed the rock and it landed on the ground near the adult’s hind legs, but instead of hastening their departure, they indignantly retook the trail and waddled on slower than ever.
Eventually they did move aside and we barreled ahead toward the pass. Beat red, breathing like locomotives and slippery in sweat we reached the bus stop with two minutes to spare!
The bus arrived and then waited forty minutes for someone who was suppose to be coming, but never did. Full Post»

Havasu Morning

Some dreamscapes exist,

earthly Edens

God forgot to hide.

One tucked in a canyon,

terraced and streaming.

Red walls from sunked away hell above.

Water color of salvation

blue peace without drowsiness

green thrill without headache.

Terraced and streaming,

please,

forever terraced and streaming.

As long as such places exist,

So can I.

Full Post»

Yellow Feast

Do you like the taste of Brittlebrush?

Are the petals tender or sweet?

Must take many flowers

to climb canyon slopes,

ford the tumbling Colorado.

I followed you here

while you crossed the creek,

back and forth

back and forth,

finally stopping neck deep amongst 10,000 suns.

Yes, I would eat you,

though know you would not me.

What do you know?

Full Post»

Dream River

I wish someone would have told me

you’d been here,

because I didn’t know you are.

I could have laughed down your banks

and rolled into your slow

root beer flow.

Could have dove to your clouds, and,

come out overhead.

I wish someone would have told me

because now it’s fall, and,

too cold to go in.

Full Post»

Western Shore

When rain breaks and
clouds part
Sun.
Sink.
Sight.
But before,
thin molten lava across my face,
better
across the basalt
and the waves that wash over,
as though it was melting.

Don't feel the spray
or the illusion is gone. Full Post»

A Few Days a Year

Trees burn,
orange, yellow, rust, red,
then leaves fall
light and slow
drifting whispers
of secrets
we pretend to know. Full Post»

Cross River

Black rock, white water
Camp on the banks

Cedar, birch, balsam
Red and yellow maples above the falls

The day was cool,
night already cold.

Day sky blue as only in autumn--
haunting clear sea
echoes of shapes
that vanish any deeper.

Slipping light condensed,
long darkness ahead,
deep blue, then,
deep cold. Full Post»