The Marble Mountains

I have seen where waters seep
From the cracks in the rock
High upon the mountainside
With no meadow to give forth

Where the early morning light
Kind from a chill autumn morn
Shines golden upon the canyon walls
Lighting high mountain lanterns in the pines

Sun plumped pine cones glowing
Gemstones of dragon fire in the dew
Sparkling new brilliance ringing the marble halls
As the fiddles tenderly echo their serenades

Folded forested mountain canyons
Radiate outward towards the horizons
Like emerald curtains hanging at rest
Above the lands of the sawyers' gold

Folds from plates crashing below
And waters running tirelessly above
Creases as random as crumpled up paper
Tossed upon the earth with disregard

Waters springing from crystal fountains
Mystical in their origins and place
Or held in lush adorning meadows
Slow to trickle down the slopes

Relief still given after long summer's gone
Kept safe and cool for these dry times
Life bestowed in wilderness depths
To keep the impurities at bay

Islands of gleaming white stone
Resting upon an endless sea of green
The Marbles and the Trinitys
Where rivers are forged in the sun

I think back to them on occasion
Jeweled pools in emerald crags
Cool and green mossed in the shade
Refreshing to say the least

The Groves That Time Forgot

Children playing in the woods
Their sounds not matched by others
In their eyes the pure vision of their enjoyment
As they see the forest in a new light

Shaded but not in shadow
Soft beams filter through from above
Illuminating in the muted glow of winter
New pathways among old giants

Islands of ancient groves
That time forgot to drag along with it
Left in their mountainous cathedrals
To march along in gospel processions

Their praises of immortality to Christ
Who spoke to them when they were children
Seem to wash away sorrows and grief
As one stands among them

Listening to their words of ancient stories
Of grace and stillness in the deep
One can hear the echoes through time
That reverb about the incense filled halls

We wade our ways through these giants
As our ancestors smile from above
New light shining on old furrows
And the waves in the grains roll ever on

Camp Creek Winter Rendezvous I

In this life we scratch and claw
Search the stream beds for diamonds and gold
Risk life and limb in frigid torrents
Wash pans of played out gravel
Time and time again

It's the unfortunate way and means
For survival in a cruel world
Forever consuming our precious time
In the never ending search for the hills of El Dorado

But once in a while we put down the gold pans
And exchange them for ones of nourishment
We leave the rivers to run their own course for a while
Letting the sluices run dry in the sun

And we journey above the hills of gold
Where the wealth giving mountain streams trickle
In a softer flow under pillows of ice
Quieting the mind in its slow embrace

Shrugging off reasoning for constant assurances
We settle down to the simple things
Good food, good company
Tall tales and short stories
And revel in the comforts of the campfire

Smoked pheasant and homemade sausage
Baked bannock and warmed tortillas
Followed the next morning
By potatoes and more sausage
With newly plucked eggs
Thick bacon and coffee
Topped off with cinnamon rolls
Fresh from the camp ovens

Lunch being skipped as the breakfast held us over
Until the night's feast of tri-tips and more bannock
Mashed potatoes with beef stew and stroganoff
And peach cobbler done up nice and juicy

It's these golden moments in life
That aren't within the sluices below
Can't be plucked from the swift flowing streams
Nor mined from the hillsides

But sometimes they're found
In deep running veins
Exposed to the mountain sunlight
Above the hills of El Dorado

Camp Creek Winter Rendezvous II