Beginning

Ninety strangers step slowly,

Single file, through a Rocky

Mountain meadow. It’s six

On a summer morning, sun

Not yet up over the aspens.

Like one body they heed the signal

And stand still for minutes,

Breathing it all in as moon-glow

Soaks and blesses Red Feather Peak.

After a deep marinade

In the moment’s quiet

They turn back

On this narrow path

Looping past each other

With echoes of sweet

Recognition, open

Eyes receive the welcome

Of friends and dawn’s

Unending bloom.

Presence of an Absence

Grief, three feet ahead

Of me once more,

Tugs my leather bracelet

With hungry fingers

As we walk and talk

Along the uneven

Sidewalk.

Afternoon in the Smokies

The forest awaits

Your steps, sure-footed

On stones as you cross

The stream roofed

with moss.

Then a sudden stopping

In this rain for day’s

Welcome burst on

Your upturned face.

Hear water’s plop and patter

On leaf and fern

Amidst whispers of mist

And moon as memories

Start to shimmer

And shout,

They’re strung like flags,

Bound in fog

Along an elusive

Mountain top.