The Mountain does not perturb.
She has quiet days and days where all hours
bring cars and people, noise and talk,
and there she stands, open-armed,
like an octopus
with three hearts.
The mountain has a view and is a view,
stands tall and swoops out
like a maiden in a skirt,
though many see her sleeping, undisturbed.
She offers rest and nests and strokes all being
with her curves.
She requests an audience for her words.
“I am firm with root, wise, with years.
The Miwok revered me, honored my sacred top
by only looking up.
You build a look-out for the fire you fear,
move like fleas with ample ease,
an ease you do not seem to carry within.
Learn from me. I teach a slow and easy spin,
following the earth as it turns.”
I walk up and down her slopes, in and out of ravines,
intend to bring as much peace as any human can,
while the mountain reaches, holds bent knees
and folded hands.