Short: The Mountain, Verse 1
A boy played in the yard as was his routine,
and then by happenstance, on a clear winter day, let his eyes drift to the north.
They landed on a dark mountain far beyond his county,
where the wind blows its surly breath and the cold will snap whatever is left exposed.
But something about the sloping giant spoke to him,
and the boy listened.
And in his heart he accepted the invitation, I will climb you.
For many months he begged his father to make the two hour drive north.
His father always said no.
And the boy’s heart grew ill.
Each day he enjoyed his backyard play a little less,
as he refused to ignore the silent call of adventure.
Then, on warm spring morning, his father pulled him from his slumber,
and they made the journey north.
Ah, said the boy to himself, timing is everything,
For the duration of the drive, his eyes stayed locked destination ahead,
the form of which grew larger and more detailed every second along the way.
Then the forest grew thick with sugar pines and firs, underpinned with manzanita,
hiding the mountain from view.
And suddenly, as they rounded the last big bend in the road,
the forest gave way as if bowing to the lord ahead.
In front of them lay the the rocky giant,
dominating the view as nothing they’d ever seen,
tranquil and forbidding, beautiful yet daunting.
The wide base was hidden by trees of all kind, all green with spring.
And the then, higher up, they gave way to the rocks.
Deep gray in some places, a reddish hue in others,
they displayed scars of battles won and lost as a result of life on the mountain.
Huge outcrops were surrounded by piles of loose volcanic rock and little else.
And then, beyond the rock, high still, snow.
White and glittering, the frozen rain looked like a cap on a pointing old man’s head.
Both father and son fell into a state of quiet wonder in an attempt to take it all in.
