From A Mountain Top In Maine

by willeya

photo (28)

The earth is a metaphor

We live in a reflection

and hear mere echoes down here

But here on the top…

The wind is Spirit

Holy breath on my face

The towering pine trees bow their heads as He passes

And I’m a witness to grace

I look out on the horizon and see the fingers of God

reaching down to tickle the palm of man

Down in the valley a deep wrinkled saint

stretches out his weathered hand

to feel the rain

***in maine, i had a chance to be at the top of a mountain with just our dog.  i felt very alive, like i was getting The Real Thing, not just reflections. i resisted coming down but it was getting dark.  i walked down during golden hour. The golden air matched the golden leaves which matched my golden dog, whose wagging bum looked like a leaf being blown down the lane.  i felt like a guest, a witness to something other, like i did at the top. it’s been a week since I came down from that mountain and i am tucked into the valley again.  back into the world of metaphors and echoes. i am both satisfied and thirsty in the same moment and suppose I will be until I return to the mountains again.

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