the mountain

There is a mountain
And on the mountain wild black clouds come racing
And olden Thor takes and shakes the mountain hard
Then stomps off eastward growling power and might
And the sun comes and steam rises from green valleys
And the sun dries the land and peeps through to fairy glades
And scents of juniper and thyme leap from the warmed earth
And in the evening sunbeams glance golden through the vales
And a breeze chases up them, whooshing through the willow boughs
And the fire leaps and crackles on the river stones
And a line of smoke winds up between the wooded slopes
And stars begin to twinkle somewhere above the peaks
And the evening lasts long and slow and beautiful
And then there is silence in the valley
And at night Orion shines brightly through a thousand years of light
And the shy night animals are heard by their quiet, careful steps
And all is black and still until the instant when
The crest of a ridge comes black against a paling sky
And day renews its promise as slow and lightly
The shadow of night creeps away on tiptoe
And the breath of Stag is shooting steam in air of morning
And sure-footed Capricorn trots across the steep beech slopes
And on a high ledge Chamoix makes proud his stand
And up in the high, dry moon rocks, Marmot whistles high-pitched
And up on the peak above is a box hidden among boulders
And in the box is a song writ in on rock in blood
And the words only I shall ever know
The words only I shall know

There is a forest on the mountain
Of sturdy Beech below and climbing Fir above
And in the forest Brown Bear roams at night
When night is crisp and clear and quiet
And come the storm the trees fling about in wild alarm
And after rain big drops fall from their branches
And in the morning before the sun slides over the ridge
It is cold but clear and well, then morning comes
And in the sun Fir’s tops wave so greenly green
So high against the burning cobalt sky
And under its spread the shade is cool
And the moss is soft in the fairy glade
And the sun spingle-spangles through the gaps
And afternoon turns mellowly to evening
When Wild Pig comes down to drink
And the line smoke weaves between the forest slopes
And the scent of burning deadwood intoxicates the soul
And low sunbeams filter through the trees
And when night comes all is not the same as day
And dug between the forest roots there lies a box
And in the box is a song writ in on wood in blood
And the tune only I shall ever know
The tune only I shall know

There is a river in the forest on the mountain
That runs in deep pools and shallow runs
And cascades down giant steps
And it chatters and sings along the shallow runs
And grows quiet and thoughtful in the deeper pools
But roars in exultation down the giant steps
And in the valley its voice is constant
And the water in the stream is sweet to drink
And easily slakes the deepest thirst
And the water in the stream is a love to enter into
And its cold strikes sharp upon the skin
But after entering within
Later you could bound upon the peaks and nearly touch the sun
And the water in the stream is clear
And in the pools Trout lies ever aware
For an insect fallen from a tree
Or Fish Eagle’s talons with their deadly sting
And by the stream White Willow grows
On sand and shingle banks
Or islands separating strands of flow
And the breeze rustles Willow
Who flutters silvery leaves
And in winter the stream turns to glittery ice
And icicles hang from Willow and Fir
And in spring the stream is furious in spate
And hurls large rocks into the arms of trees
And such power you have never seen
And in summer the stream is mellow and gentle
And sings to the trees and the hills its daily song
And whispers to you its nightly lullaby
And the fire leaps and crackles on its stones
And Breeze chases up, whooshing Willow’s boughs
And in the deepest pool there is a box
And in the box there is a song
Writ in a red quartz vein through white stone
And the voice only I shall ever know
The voice only I shall know

Copyright (c) Robert Hale 2020. Photo by the author.