I Rested There

I rested there, 
  by the river, by the flowing water,
    gurgling and coming down the mountainside,
    where I sat as glaciers glared on down,
  looming and crackling against the silent atmosphere.

I wandered there,
  alongside the forests cropped by the logging crews against the aged wood,
  guarded by thin beaucratic paper made out of the trees that once there stood -
    civilization feels as distant as the lost cell service,
  and I love that feeling that crawls over me, a paleolithic mood.

I sat there,
  on the lakeside after snows drifted down and piled softly their gentle white,
    and heard the wind blow so quietly and forlornly, rippling the water briskly,
    ripples that cease at thin islands of invisible ice that tremble at their touch -
    and when my eye then catches the ascending firs thick upon the ridge, 
  disappearing in mist out of sight,
      I wonder if they carry on forever
      where my imaginations hover.

I pondered there,
  that for a time all is still in the motions of the forest,
    that for a time it stills the motion of notions within me,
  so I can find the elusive and quiet consolation in rest -

    Leaves settle once a year, but my soul less often I fear;
    the snows come not nor quench my woes, which speak and still I hear.

Featured image: Detail of a ‘A Storm in the Rocky Mountains, Mt. Rosalie,’ painted by Albert Bierstadt (1866), detail photo by Rhododendrites (2017), image covered under creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

Please don't forget to share!

2 thoughts on “I Rested There”

Leave a Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.