When Mountains Speak
Hills fall away,
green overlapping green.
In the distance,
horizons blend with dusk.
There is a moment of reckoning
when the keen, wild scent of pine
mingles with leafy musk of the ages;
then a cardinal dips its wings
in a small pool formed by a cloven hoof,
a breeze stirs the land-
the pine tree sings
and late sun nails gold shingles
on the cabin roof.
The swift falling night
pulls a silver curtain over the valley.
Halfway down the hill, I stop.
Thinking...no longer caring...
but certain that somewhere he waits.
I revel in the stillness.
Small sounds that insects make
tell me all is well...
I need not enter his outside world
that does not know the way...
Mountains speak to soothe when night is near.
© Rebecca Rudd
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