My time in the Cascade Mountains is almost over. Tomorrow morning I leave for home. Fires burn on all sides; air smells of
smoke, visibility less than a mile. Each
day I have found places to escape; now smoke seems everywhere. I leave you with a few pictures and notes
from the last few days.
Lillian Falls, deep in the Waldo Lake Wilderness and seldom visited, its mossy sides clothed in green moss.
an old log in green velvet
climbs up the middle
defying the roar
she follows at his waist
adopting his garb
would not be there otherwise
far from help
she’s forgotten where
and when
but not the trees
the little bird
that didn’t fly away
Not a fire, but a sunbeam
pinhole in foliage far behind
lights upon a rotting tree
guides to where she’s going
and tries to understand
march away
each rank less distinct
until the last is hazy memory
winter six years ago
when I was young
future shrouded in snow
colors under white
hard yet pliable
imaginable
but not like this