The Silence of the Summit (Poetry Monthly)
By Silver Spun Sand
Tue, 04 Aug 2015
- 818 reads
6 comments
Darkness falls and I am cold;
limbs – stiffening, hope – fading.
In my alpine-rated bag, close my ears
to the marmots’ piercing lullaby;
often wondered where Whistler Mountain
got its name.
‘Neath my canopy of stars, I pick out
Orion, The Plough; amazing things –
stars. So too, the satellite constellation;
much like dot to dot technology. I shall call
everyone I know – tell them of the slide
this afternoon...
How I’d seen Sockeye Salmon spawn
at Gates Creek; saw a brown, Bald Eagle
soar the skies at the Squamish Estuary,
a Trumpeter Swan sent skating, after
crash-landing on the ice.
Avalanche risk was high; only,
I’ve always courted danger,
and where danger is, so is fate,
hand in hand with eventuality.
And here I lie, broken, yet elated.
James Joyce springs to mind.
“He had doubled the cape
a few odd times...weathered
a monsoon...and through all
those perils of the deep – one
thing, he declared...a pious
medal, he had, that saved him.”
‘Why do I climb mountains?’ they ask.
‘Why do birds fly and salmon swim upstream?’
my reply. Clichéd, though it is,
it says what I mean
and, yes – I will talk, and talk and talk...
until the satellite bids, ‘Good night’.
Until my batteries...run dry...
a silence of purple hills
falling away like sweet,
night rain.
- Log in to post comments
Comments
No pain? Free to enjoy
No pain? Free to enjoy memories and talking – and some of her experienced pleasures you've drawn so well. Rhiannon
- Log in to post comments
You wrote of sleeping under
Permalink Submitted by skinner_jennifer on
You wrote of sleeping under the stars so high up in those mountains...what an amazing sight! How I could imagine what it must be like to be so close to space and the surrounding beauty. You took me there with your words Tina.
Very much enjoyed.
Jenny.
- Log in to post comments