where grass looks like velvet,
the boulders and rocks
like buttons and brooches
you are up above the timber line
where the world
looks like a model of the world,
an earth-like imitation,
the breeze is genuinely brisk –
it could blow you off
the earth
from up here.

*

No looking forward or back
just look around
at pillows of low-lying vegetation,
succulent purple flowers,
an alpine soapwort
or the mountain pasque
in August
their bloom now faded,
only a dried spiraled puff
remains.

Above the timber line

(where the precious air
puts you in a frenzy
producing
amazingly keen thoughts
achieved normally
through vigorous
spiritual discipline)

you follow the path
for treacherous trekking
each step must be secure
as you cross the terrain
some two thousand meters
above sea-level,
one careful step
and the weight of your foot
has set pebbles loose;
you listen
to them roll
(the rolling of pebbles)
as they slide down the incline.
Now you’ve sent them
over bare earth and stones
(no more grass here)
but you carry on
over rocks
listening to the tap of your stick
way up above the timber line.

*

Above the timber line
you come to a brook:
narrow at first
then the water widens,
spreads out over a white plateau
and tumbles
down the mountain
to pastures & cows
to forests.
You drink the water
ferociously
you wash your face
and neck
(you drink and drink)
until the water revives you

and you can wander off the trail
to follow the brook upwards
to find its source
a blue pond
shaded by gravelly high slopes
that lead to jagged formations
making sharp zigzags
across the sky.

*

Wind whistles in your ears
blowing ripples
over the water
varying its shades of turquoise
and when it’s still
you notice a patch of snow
melting at the pond’s edge
by its constant drip into water.

*

There you sit way above the timber line
on the rock studded with garnets
little stony knobs hiding their brilliance
but you scratch at one
to catch a glimpse of the dark purple gems
and stare at the water, the smooth pond floor,
while you eat your sandwich
and discover tiny flowers
growing up
out of patches of moss.

*

Climb off the rock
to examine the soldanella
so minuscule next to huge gray boulders
their blooms
like fringed purple trumpets
all above the timber line.

*

Treacherous hiking behind you
and still more up ahead
that leads you up there
in the sunshine
over the notch
in the back of the mountain
by the dagger formations
and down to a cirque,
that opens and flattens
first gray & steep
before changing over into wide velvety green.

*

The land comes to an abrupt drop
and you will think you’ve come
to the end of the world,
not yet realizing
there will be another lake
where you will bathe
(not like this pond here
where you can only
dip your toe
for a split second),
your body will ache then tingle
from the cold;
it will make you
screech with pleasure
close to the timber line.

*

At the pond
you wonder about what’s ahead
(though you see that notch
and know you can make it).

*

A small plane
flies above
not far off
just by the jagged tips
you can hear its rumbling motor.

---

Wave to it! wave!
I’m here, I’m down here!
Please come rescue me
from all this inebriating air!