Looking toward the east
I’m thinking of walking across the thick layer of fog
that lies just beneath this sunlit crest.
I’m thinking of leaping,
each step springing me higher
above the creamy softness
as I cross the valley that lies 1,000 feet below.
I will reach the horizon’s snow-capped peaks in moments.
Such are dreams,
but I am wide awake
having just emerged from the cold, damp darkness
that has been our lot for days now;
having witnessed bars of sunlight filtering through
the clutching fog near the summit;
having heard the cries of joy from others
who gather here,
who drink thirstily from the brightness.
Surely anything is possible
if begun on this rounded hilltop
where sun warms body and soul.
My thermos of hot tea and bites of a late lunch
are not nearly as nourishing as is this gift.
“Andy be careful!” a mother calls to her child
when he approaches the wispy edge.
Perhaps this is her first visit.
Perhaps she thinks that below
that vital meeting place of slope and cloud
lies a steep cliff
and below that an icy lake
or a storm-tossed sea
or, at the very least, an unknown–
I think of calling across to tell her all is well
but sometimes we each must
find our own way.
Three geese fly across, dark silhouettes against the shimmering white,
heading west around the south end of the mountain.
Shortly they return, wing north,
swerve again to the west and disappear behind the trees.