THE SMOOTH WHITE STONE CARRIES SNOW
We are looking up at icicles, we used to suck on them as kids, there was probably all sorts of guck in them from the roof, but we loved them, we love partaking of the world, the simplicity of ice, its purity, its cold, the unseen things inside, like pollutants, to be fixed or expelled, the arctic wind is freezing the fir and the evergreen tips of tough pine needles, that distinct smell of medicine, of young green timber when rubbed onto the backs of hands, or crushed between the fingertips, the wind is an old ocean washing up onto many different shores, into trees that are rigid with frost, or those that bend like waves, topple sideways, erupting from the thin soil, they lie down like rivers, or logs along the river's sadness, in winter we are not allowed to open the windows, because the pipes will freeze, but we do and the winds race inside, the cold buries its rush into my spine, it finds a way into the tender bone to ache, there are two climates, one for the mountain and another for the valley, above the permanent snowline and below it, bald eagles soar freely between two worlds and the ravens synchronize with them, the clouds have snagged themselves on the mountain, the iced over ranges move through clouds like the prow of a ship, valleys of clouds are washing up along shores, where the river rock forms, big and fierce, in its own way like a mountain, when the river rocks flow, it's the mountain in pieces moving beneath itself, the stone rests like a heart in my palm, a smooth organ, it is carrying the story of snow, white on one side and green where the algae has died, moss and ice, i am happy to live with stone, to be in the company of these great snowy crags, a wilderness inside them, exploring itself through the movement of stones, far down the waterways to civilization, past the quick changes in climate, i change almost as quick, the ravens call is shorter than the crows to accommodate the cold, the birds that stay behind are plump, in search of food, the track that native Americans once followed, to get through the mountains and onto the prairie, this is where i found the smooth white stone. |
