Words on the run

Two Guides, Neniis-otoyou’u

Three poems from three runs

the keyhole is more like a portal to the backside of the front range,

where there's texture and mystery, snow and granite

while it's not direct, it's not like it's not worth doing

my heart teases me, tells me i want to go straight up the diamond

but alas, i run

i run up the boulderfields, tiptoe through the keyhole, trough, narrows

i monkey crawl up the homestretch to find curvaceous marmots waiting for my crumbs

i meet a nice man i worked with on a film project that i never saw

we hug

a better way to meet than over a screen

i float down, thinking of the gift to be alive, of a friend who lived with bursting life

old-man-of-the-mountains careen east

flower perfection

can you imagine, always looking east?

that's the way they are

and the way i am, i look east and west, north and south

but like the old men, i'm content where i'm planted

how pristine you are

sharp grey granite frosted with lime lichen

billowy grass softer than a mattress

wind blown trees with lopsided branches to the east,

like his tussled hair after waking up from a deep sleep on the west

snowmelt snaking down down, quenching the masses

basin of life,

thank you!

Buffalo's backside,

round, healthy peak

All of Red's ridge,

snaking up to the craggily gore

Peaks 1-10, all of the Mosquitoes,

steep to grassy slopes as far as my eyes will take me

Baldy, big girl

Summit memories flooding, a delightful deluge of friends, boyfriends, acquaintances, my dad

Here, the minutiae of moss campion, forget me nots, alpine lupine

Summer is heaven