Campsite #14
The last shadow of the mountain
looks like a hand
cupped to receive something small,
fragile. Everything else is purple.
The purple of bright pink
that has been tipped toward blue, then righted
at the actual shade
of the mountains’ majesty.
The end of the daylight
on the tree-covered slopes glows
red, purple, orange.
The moon rises, swelling white in
the robin’s egg sky.
All seems still at this
dusk except the
constant cackle of Slough Creek.
Returning to the mountains,
the shadow hand is still cupped
waiting to catch some tiny treasure.
Ah, Yellowstone,
how you restore me,
get me back to the truth.
How do I keep you
with me as I venture back into
the world of anger, politics, impatience,
greed, speed, and distraction?
I will take you with me. Bison, pronghorn,
sagebrush, thermophiles, geysers,
and the purple mountains’ majesty.
Oh! Now, you are almost all shadow.
The shadow of the hand
reaches to receive
the shadow of the mountains.
Kingfishers chitter up and down the creek,
and now the mountains are grey,
glacier blue, like going back
to their beginning.
All Text Copyright 2020 – Adrienne S. Wallner/Jaeger