Last night the dream was mountains
a hike past rough pole gazebos
perched on quiet cliffside trails
to the white bedrock top
smell of pitch pine
the storms blow up the valley
under hemlock dark
cathedral canopy
(mostly gone now
melting fog thinning away)
the hushed voice stream bank
the hidden waterfalls
someplace to swim
peregrine's distinct kee
deer among the shagbark
and a faint call of belay
too far off to bother
the crowds in the leafy cool summer
worse the spectacular fall
took a group of city teens up the crag
some lost their shoes between boulders
and cried
not a bad job
still

how often I dream of mountains