great spirit

Spirit of spring mountain I am yours.  O’ raven spirit, vulture spirit, doe spirit, and buck.  The furry ones, the winged ones, the four leggeds, the creepy crawlers.  The stone buddhas, the plant spirits, the star brothers and sisters, and pachamama terra firma—the soil, my beloved.  

We moved here a year ago, and you said, welcome home. 

Last Fall, on one of our first hikes from your pond to your peak, we were tromping through the woods and I thought aloud to the universe, I can’t wait…I just cant wait until a year from now, or ten years from now, when I’ve climbed this mountain so many times that I no longer even get out of breath.  her and i were hiking with a new friend--an exuberant spirit who has on more than one occasion since this hike exhibited the ability to perform real life acts of magic before our eyes.  He heard my musing and replied, jared, at that point, it won’t be a challenge to climb the mountain because you will be the mountain.  And of course, as the fable goes, I understood not what he prophesized. 

spirit of the mountain, your acorns are plump, while some have already released their grasp from your limbs.  your moss is thirsty, and your turkeys look narrow.  Your douglas fir trees are absolutely busting with pine cones.  The mountain jays and the ravens are announcing—well, everything.  The breeeeeeeeeeze.  If I were a red tailed hawk I would launch off the highest ledge and you would carry me to and fro as steady as time itself.  Nothing is as sure as my flight. 

It’s been months without a single drop of rain and your lush green foliage is still glowing full of life--happily attentive.  Your creeks are dry, and the creepy crawlers and the crayfish down near the pond appear to be pressed for a place to spend the night.  as a result, the skunks have been thriving in your ravines.  the owls appear to be coming out earlier, their breathy vibrato hoo-ing accompanying our late afternoon strolls. the blackberries down by the lake have raisined on the vine wherever they remain standing unpicked.

The branches of your apple trees hang heavy—some are touching the ground!  the grapes hang in the most perfect clusters.  The figs are swollen and deeply hued.  The bees, by the grace of god, appear to be thriving.  The sunflowers are ten feet tall.  The tomatoes are pumping, the eggplants are ripe, and the plums and the pluots are all either ghosts of the garden's future or past.  The thistles have released billions and billions of seeds into the air and onto your surface, and despite the decade of weeding they will cause ahead, I can’t blame them.  Could I experience this feeling you provide a billion times more i would divide myself and launch into the air all the same. 

The song birds have been right all along, singing their songs and tending their nests.  What a joy it is, spring mountain, to be your eager student.