Memory of Mountains

A Memory of Mountains

Near Middlebury, where I paint, fields and pastures loll westward.

The lake in the distance shimmers below granite cliffs.

A stand of trees draws a line.

A stone wall crosses – interrupting but briefly.

 The landscape is its own being and cannot be other.

This patchwork of cornrows and lush, verdant grasses,

rich umber furrows where stalks will sprout,

eases the eyes to the deep, ultramarine that is

Champlain.  

Beyond, near Port Henry, mountains rise from the waters –

not gently, as if to ease the soul to higher planes,

severely, demanding to know why you approach.

Once you’ve explored and exhausted all answers,

given yourself to the simple majesty that, millions of years ago,

was the verge of the ocean,

you’ll let go of that to which we cling,

those feeble attempts to dominate the indomitable. 

and

You will embrace your being on the Earth.

You will give thanks.

You will feel grace.