Ascend miles of Douglas fir, white pine,
zones of Engleman spruce and western larch.
A sunny meadow
lies hinged to the mountain
by the last gnarly spruce.
Springs gurgle amid purple shooting star blossoms
and white-petalled grass of Parnassus.
I nibble Jarlsberg, dried pear,
swirl the soft breeze—
seep into grassy
earth.
(North Fork of the Teannaway, 2005)
(No. 98 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s […]
It looks like a forget-me-not
my daughter, Ariel, ponders,
but how could that be—
here, at over 5000 feet
in the eastern Cascades?
On our descent I pluck one,
examine its five blue petals and hairy stem,
stash it in my shirt pocket.
Hours later I resuscitate and key it—
an Okanogan stickseed.
I email Air the news,
make the stickseed comfortable
in the rich, sea level […]
My pack lighter than ever,
the season late,
I haul myself over headlands
to Toleak Point. Near my ocean camp,
cow parsnip that danced
in spring breezes has gone
to seed, its leaves slug-nibbled.
Wild lily of the valley, a once-green carpet,
has grown yellow and wan.
Yet listen as the north wind rustles
the parsnip’s dry pods.
Lower your eyes
to the lily’s quiet fruit—tiny […]
High on the Big Quil Trail,
I traverse a scree slope
below Buckhorn’s
basalt pinnacles.
At my feet, the season’s final
scarlet paintbrush.
Ahead, yellow cedars drape the way.
I climb above the trail,
cut fragrant branches
to remind me of summer days.
Winter snows arrive
so soon.
(No. 93 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
Long out of print, this guide
summons me to the reaches
of Glacier Peak—
through fields of avalanche
lilies, red swirls
of late season blueberries.
The time nears
when memories serve
as better boots.
Shall I present
this trusted companion
to my young friend
who seeks answers
within these
mountains?
Here.
(No. 100 in a series of responses to Han-Shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
1.
We tried to plant a garden
some years ago.
Even putting in deer netting
turned into an argument.
The soil was not sweet enough,
nothing much grew.
Blackberries, scotch broom,
and sticky weed thrived.
Removing our old netting
required too much
effort.
2.
Spring breathes urgency
into an eruption of peonies
near my porch. Nearby,
Heavenly bamboo
shimmers in the sun
while my newly sown
chard and kale seeds
unfurl to the light.
3.
The […]
Coming out of upper Cameron Basin,
then along Lillian Ridge where
mountain wizards craft energy candies
in rock grottoes under
full moons.
Beyond attention, effortless airy
shadow inspects rock slides,
stubby grasses, dried
bluebells and asters.
Marmot monks,
stationed like signal fires,
rip the silence, lump
toward burrow holes.
Raptor vision,
swift shadow,
echoing whistles bring an urgent
scale to the land.
Forget pain in knees,
long day, heavy pack.
Breathe the distances,
find a […]
We climb the Townsend Creek trail
through rock and misted colors
of aster, lupine, paintbrush.
High on a grassy bench we rest.
Ariel, a year and a half old,
wrapped in lambskin
she calls Fuzzy,
speaks out loud to no one,
The clouds are the mountain’s
Fuzzy.
(No. 88 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
