A Visit to the High Country

saddlebaglakesNow, now that I am here in the splendor, the words drop away in favor of the curved baby pine with the white trunk there with its sisters, gazing stoutly and freshly at the magnificence.

Or is the magnificence there for it, holding it so dearly in the earth-wind-water-sky-rock cathedral, its own sacred heart, worshiping it, giving to it, loving it?

How does it take hold? How does it live so brightly and so humbly, here in its place, some well-chosen random place that now sings because of this one earnest pine?

And I ache for you to live forever, to take root in my heart, to never let me forget. I want to touch you and carry you around with me and plant you and raise you up — and never be far from you, for what you teach me and how you make me cry and how you grew straight out of the rock for me, for me, for me.

And see, all of your relations are here. And I am here.

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