Wednesday, September 11, 2019
This post was written while hiking in the Sierra Mountains
The Lake
The lake is a strand of dark blue
surrounded by a ribbon green marsh grass.
Ducks fly in low, landing in sequence, they
form a line paddling to the opposite bank,
their purpose unknown.
How long has this rock I am sitting on
been in this spot.
Certainly since long before I was born,
it will remain here long after
I have passed this way.
Perhaps it has always been here
since the cataclysmic uplift that raised
these mountains,
now, simply being weathered to nothing.
Perhaps it broke from the peak above,
a disobedient child,
and ran away, tumbling and churning
until it came to rest in this spot,
faraway from its place of birth.
I don’t want to leave this spot,
It sings to me of places far away
and sights too beautiful to imagine.
Brad Adkins