Land of The Big Sky

In the land of the big sky,

Spirits dress in puffy white robes

Welcomed us as they wisped over all

Flooding upon the never-ending blue sea

The mountains showed forth their majesty

 Encircling us with evergreen robed hills

Offering watchful protection from crowning

Floral grassy meadows and denuded peaks

Filling the land with the sweet smell of pine

Wending down through every valley from above

Like the many waters that cascaded and flowed along

The ravines and into the earth’s most hidden chambers

Raging there and in lofty streams,

Wayside creeks and canyon rivers

It seemed as if the peaks cried with joy

As the birds filled the air with laughter

The waters spoke of freshness over the rocks

Rounding bends and with them flowed new life

Sure as the sun called the day out of the ground

And the golden warmth from behind the night

People of far off lands swam the tar roads

Like gondolas along every channel

Floating through swaths of trees, fields, brooks

Up and down they went – round and round again

Montana bragged,

“I am the plain atop the foundations of the world,

And none can see as far as I!”

Wyoming howled in wild derision,

“I am the most free of all lands;

A wolf who devours the wilderness.”

“I roam the kingdom of beasts great and small.”

But Idaho let out a growl that boasted,

“ I am a great and consuming hunger -

The terror and power of the Grizzly Bear!”

Then Idaho attached himself his powerful claws

To no less than six states threatening again,

“ I have capture you and will hold on as you struggle

until one or all of you weaken and tires,

For then you shall become food for my winter.”

But the heavens chided the proud states and sent men -

Who came to humble the land by their very persistant presence

The rocks o’er the precipice shouted, “pour forth ye waters

Clear and green, rush on with your solid looking columns,

Forceful fluid body now collapse away!” and –

The waters tumbled and fell, crashing far below

In violence they went, beneath the rising spraying cloud

Just beyond the beautiful emerald river proclaimed to the sky,

“ I am the most powerful and fair among all the wilderness,

High and low.” “ I cut through the jagged rock.”

“yes, I like an angelic sword riding the wind,

Passionately winding and turning, barreling ever onward,

With a voice that none can stop.”

“ I roar on and no man or flame stops my travel –

I sweep them all away – beasts, bolders, trees.”

“Yes I alone pass through the crystal light and

The dark deep forbidden reaches below earth and stone.”

She went on that way in her rapacious beauty until the river

Passed through the valley and out of sight – until at last

Her tumultuousness was calmly swallowed up by a

Great winding serpent – the muddy Mississippi waters of legend.

By the trail the rams foraged among the brush

Oblivious to all, shielded each by two head butting –

Morning glory like horn spirals to the envy of every petrified mollusk

Left behind in the surrounding sedimentary rock layers from eons past

Indecisive Bison so fickle, now gentle and calm with questioning eyes,

Trotting and feeding on the grass, frolicking and turning over in the dust

Over and over, then swaying back and forth in the passing waters.

So soft and serene is he, quiet like the breeze,

Gazing upon the creation in peace… What now?

Wooly headed soul in competition runs lowing and groaning,

Wrestling, colliding, fighting – You display

Wonderous strength and Stamina against all other behemoths,

Who in turn throw themselves at you with weighty abandon.

How do you survive? With nothing to say, you remain

The most existential of the large beasts of the plains and valleys,

Watched over by vanguards of geese and friendly ducks,  

With birds to clean your coat, you remain contented.

“Look at me!” “Look at me!” he exclaimed

There high up on his perch he sat.

“ I am the king of birds, do you see?”

Larger than a small child was he and without peer

Among all his fellows – regal arched back and neck,

Fierce eyes, a pillar of darkness was he.

With a coat of jet black coal, the Golden Eagle,

Though not the least bit golden, truly is the most magnificent of birds.

But the ravens nearby laughed and mocked,

“Look at me!”, “Look at me!” on and on they jeered.

Until the Golden Eagle responded by taking off  

From his place of rest and showing forth the

Bounteous spreading of his awe-inspiring expansive wings.

As the eagle fanned out his every beautiful feathery plumage

They beat against the unseen wind with a whoosh sound

Until the regal raptor rose high above the trees like the dawn

In confidence and pride befitting his station

He sailed and glided the highest heights with our drifting thoughts and gaze.

The ravens cowered and hid shuddering in the nearby pines.

The bear, embarrassed by his grizzled appearance,

Kept out of sight sleeping in the forrest during the day

Only coming out in the early morning, haunting every boy’s dreams,

Letting out occasional, otherwise unavoidable bellowing growls.

Or perhaps its was just the sound of his snoring after drifting fast asleep.

In any case once could never tell, as no creature ever wanted to venture

Close enough that unpredictable and rather burly fellow to find out for sure.

In another part of the woods and hills the Moose wondered and lamented aloud,

“Why was I ever fashion thus?” Why should I have the body and shape

Of a horse but without any of his beauty?” Again he called out to field and forest

To anyone who would listen really, “Why on earth when I sing,

Do I sound like a bull or a cow on a farm instead of the wild beast that I am?”

And he thought, “ What a strange creature I am.” He bemoaned once again,

“ I have wings growing out of my head, but I cannot fly.”

“I frequently wander into towns as if they were my home.”

None of the forest creatures could console him and so he wandered

Next into a vast lake and informed the fish crying,

“ I seem to be the most mixed up and least cleaver creature

Among all the large beasts of the mountain and fields.”

The ground below the caldron moved in the night.

Steam spouted out of holes and cracks in the earth

Mysterious hot fountains of mist under the stars.

Water worked its way from below heated rivers up

Into pools of emerald and sky blue at temperatures of  

Some 300 degrees inviting the winter ice to cool them off.

After we had been washed clean by the waterfalls, rivers,

High plains, and fresh mountain blossomy breezes,

The earth moved again and its warm trembling

Eventually shook us down the road toward the

Ever opening and widening vanishing point

Like a happy party mix settling down in a metal bowl

We traveled onward in our white van leaving Montana behind

Moving forward like pebbles on minor’s sifting table, water by our side

Vibrating and filtering each sunlit moment revealing gems and nuggets of gold

Until stopping, we landed at the edge of a large stony glacier fed lake.

It drank up the valley and out of its reflection grew grand sharp toothed mountains.

Austere and grey they stood anchoring the horizon firmly and cutting against the heavens.

The face of each peak was brushed with snow and ice had grown, refusing to melt

In defiance of the valley’s relentless rising heat below.

It surely was the mother’s milk of mountains spoken of by French fur trappers of old,

Dwelling just beyond the land of steam, minerals, fires, storms, long winters,

Lazy elk filled plateaus, and yellow stone.