Onion Valley and her deep greens call us to wander, to climb, to contemplate

    a God that is love, is whole, and a blessing        the thin air tight and dry accented with sage  is a museum focussed and intense  it embraces us and invites us    makes us wonder, makes us sigh

 

Wood’s Rose feminine petals shimmer and call us to pause and breath, our steps

    crush granite and the incline is steep

 

Western Columbine like red orange diamonds hang like earnings on the trails head    

    the pass of Kearsarge looms up in the blue ceiling  luminous patches of white beckon us for cold nights and hot days   shirts of sweat, smoke and morning stretches

 

Green Leaf Manzanita a tenacious mob of a plant clings to dry dust soil and flickers its globe-shaped     leaves forcing us to stop for a closer look   its rudy hardwood stalks are miniature redwoods.  they do their best to be as majestic.

 

We think ourselves wise but are told to be foolish first, letting go of what is known and learning from

    the trail, from contemplating, creation, God and His indwelling

Posted
AuthorChris Sanita
CategoriesPoetry