The first thing that struck me
About the Peninsula’s land
Was the way that the Mountains
Consume the skies in angry demand.
"Angry," I thought at first,
For in the place I was raised
A person can see for miles away
From light wind, the sleepy grass wakes.
I used to find comfort
In the wide-openness like that.
Peace would flood my child-soul
As on grandma’s front porch I sat.
You could see where you were going
Long before you ever arrived.
There was no mystery of mission,
No place for enemies to hide.
At my first taste of Alaska
I felt walled in; beside, in front, behind
I could scarcely catch my breath
The prison of angry rock would blind.
But the family years went by.
Mountain vacations, sun, snow and rain.
Bonding to one another
As we mastered difficult terrain.
They were always a thing of beauty,
Though always respect was demanded.
At times consequences of carelessness
Would be leveled heavy-handed.
They would be there ever bragging,
As visitors come to see them grand. I came to see their beauty, Mystery and magesty that they command.
And when my heart would hurt
I’d find myself drawn in daze
Not to the memory of long miles of field,
But to the Mountains my eyes would gaze.
Sitting sad in a lonely house
Reflecting, I’d sip my cup of tea.
The lazy snow would deftly fall
Leaving snowcapped Mountains for me to see.
I no longer find comfort, as before,
Where a person can see for miles
Light winds waking the sleepy grass
Like I did when I was a child.
Those Mountains are as a friend;
Strong and protective and forever so.
Yet offering comfort like a blanket
Promising peace for that little child-soul. Labels: Poetry |
