Thursday, September 12, 2013

Misty Mountain Hop





There is a hill in this land
Private land so it will not be named
Where I am sure that spirits dwell

For whenever I approach it
On a chilly, cloudy winter's day
When the surrounding countryside
And nearby hills and mountains
Are shrouded in misty fog
So that this hill is the only one
That is within view
While standing at its base
Looking around before and during
The meandering ascent

It's grasses gold and green as ever from the rains
It's moss covered granite boulders and oak trees
Spark something in the back of my mind
That I am no longer in California
But some ancient land in the English countryside
Some shire of wooded glades

I do not strive or reach out to pretend this
It just happens
Must be the ancestral blood coursing through from long ago
Some oak woodlands have this effect on me

Standing on lawns between the granite boulder outcroppings
As their humble formations combine
Into one solid hill of rock
Rumbling and humming below me in vibrant undertones
As the cold bite of the frosty air
Tumbles around and down slopes
Chattering then leaving nothing but vast silence

The deeper I climb around this hill's gullies and ravines
Around boulders and through crevices
Through emerald wooded glen
The more I expect to find a hidden thatched roof cottage
Or peel tower ruins
Some form of medieval habitation of man
Or some morning dew glistened fairy ring

What does dwell here are ancient cave paintings
Left by the conjuring shamans of long ago
Black and white and red colored images of cave dwelling creatures
Spiders and tarantulas, snakes and ticks,
Centipedes, lizards, and some local plants
Perhaps ingredients of healing potions or spells

Shamans and witches far removed
From Merlin and Nimue of the Arthurian woods
But similar in many realms

And when the conditions are right
In the clear light of a winter's full moon
After glowing muted orange
As it first rose above the mountain peaks
Showing itself suddenly without warning
A soft glowing orb in the pitch black of night
Now shining bright white above the fog layer
In heavy mist hiding the land stretching out below
The hill becomes an illuminated island in the clouds
In all it's glory

Truly this hill has mystical properties
And given a chance to explore the rocky shapes and forms
Is a mystical delight for the senses
And a renewal of the spirit within

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