A Song for the High Sierras

My song will be lungs going empty & being filled

My boots slapping granite steps

Panting as we climb

I ask permission from the coniferous citizens to tread the trail – towering lodge-pole pine, stunted lupine & deadly Indian corn.

I seek a blessing from the sub-alpine congregation to ascend through rusty Sierra juniper, abundant heather & chubby white barked pine.

I am honored to sit with the guardians of the alpine – rugged arctic willow, innocuous lichens & mighty little grasses.

And I venerate the wild gods of this place – the coursing waters & roaring wind; the mycelium, the thunderstorm, the glacier.

I have come for a reunion with the black bear & pica, the osprey & the martin, the beaver & the dragonfly.

I have come to gather with the clouds & mountains, stands of trees & piles of stones.

And I have come to remember the wildness in my body & the glory of my home.

My song will be putting down my pack to swim

My calves pulled tight

And a sunburned smile on ancient peaks

photo by Hall Newbegin