Beacon Rock, December

 

 
Climbing the rock with feet in slush and sunlight
A new view and a kiss
Over and over
Icicles drip
Melting off yellow grasses
Nodding in the weak winter sunlight
 

All next to the massive river
Switchback after switchback untamed,
Unclipped, undomesticated
Deep green ferns sheltered in the overhang
Even now
Water dripping down the black stone
 

I like standing there
In the sunheat watching
The pine trees grow accustomed
To the wind
Lopsided
 

The texture of the hillside
4 or 5 triangles in a row
A chevron repeated
In snow dust and traveling mist
Even the burnt out places
Feel complete
 

Turning around
On the shadow side
Wind bites our faces
Like a snowball thrown by
A younger brother
All in good fun
 

At the top
Of the rock-strewn switchbacks
Staring mainly at the valley stretched out
The wind brings tears in our eyes
Shiny red noses rubbing together
Stand behind me
Just like that
Call me Windbreaker Tsnuami
 

Coming down the mountain
We’re not in a hurry
 

What’s the opposite
Of a deathmarch?
A life march?
That’s what this is.