Whale belly white
talus clanks underfoot
like brittle bones of
a xylophone;
an ancient song
from a mountain’s tongue
lying atop layers of
soil and needle.
There’s a story here
where they quested
for Spirit
on the ridge
under a snowy blanket of stars.
The Doug Firs whir
with the sudden rushing wind.
Overhead, a bald eagle peers
into the treetops.
We’re a tiny page
of a great big book;
passing clouds casting
shadows across the valley floor.
