Over by the devil’s club near where skunk cabbage
lotus-like emerges, you
don’t see yourself close to the
shore it’s the
green of ancient cedars making shade on one day not
raining mist and memories
of hikes in lost summer’s ago
where
the switchbacks pile up
head down feel your weight in hamstrings high on
nitrogen and the potency of
wilderness the
endorphins fuel every step skyward
with a green gold hue the
lily,
indian paintbrush and blue gentian
demonstrate
fire and how death is the first
event of a brand new life.
@ Butters Gallery