Watching the horses graze on the high mountain pasture through beetle kill trees at sundown
We sit on our silence
As the snap of the fire
And bubbling of dinner in the pot
Become our focus
Taking us away in thought
With tired bodies
Backs arms hands sore
Resting reprise restoring
Content to do little but sit and listen
With the song of the birds and roar of the creek
Seeming farther still in the distance
Late afternoon sunlight dances behind
The tall timber
Much of which is lacy and stark without needles
Dripping with delicate pale moss
Still standing and shading and muting the hillside before us
Light playing its way through the fragile branches
And still majestic weighty solid trunks
The sun now but a few inches above the mountain peak
That will soon envelope the warmth
Comfortably drying our jeans and jackets and selves
Laid out as if at alter
After the hail and heavy rains that drove us away from our work
And into the shelter of the tent
Out of the wet clothing
Soaking us unprepared
Again
Gentle and flowing is the light now
Defused by smoke from the fire
Shadows so long
Through still branches and tall grass
But a light rustling of the delicate hanging moss
The hillside across the valley is already dark
A silhouette before us of pillars of trees
And open runs snaking down the hill where avalanches run
Silver puddles out in the open meadow
Sun light on the ponds
Dancing in our eyes
Twinkling as bright stars in the subtle light of the meadow
The final flight of the red tail hawk
Circling above spiraling in the center
Of the vast open meadow
Of the divide
Of the spine of our world
The dance of the light
The song in the smooth evening air
The rhythm of the land.
)