(It’s April, or National Poetry Month. Last year, I greatly enjoy posting a poem a day with my friend, and we plan to do the same thing this year. I can’t promise I’ll post every poem right on the day, because I tend to draw inspiration throughout the day. Here is April’s first poem.)
I found it in the sound of the wind brushing the mountains,
In the trees scraping air into words of response.
It was lost in a fog on sky-filled night, but I was above
The line of clouds. I had a light, but preferred the stars.
Alive and free, my legs carried me. I saw homes and boulders,
Single track switchbacks and streams all through the ghost white.
My world was a light circle of roots and rocks and random
Jumps, adventures in teaching my feet to fly.
I’ve never been more thankful for a body that flows.
Each step was a dance of praise to a ethereal God
Who created the most beautiful machine. I climbed high,
Enough to combine my breathe with the wind as it soared.
The cold crept into my lungs to remind me not to take
Anything for granted, like the ability to be
There and return home having given credit to the
Beautiful sound of air washing over a mountaintop.