How it got it’s name I do not know
but it wouldn’t be a bad place to die
As I’m coming out of the lower forest
climbing over the top of the ridge
the snowless face of
behind the tree lined mound of
A raven squawks somewhere at the edge
of the higher forest and the afternoon sun casts
shadows on the patches of clear cuts below.
Tips of yellow grass sway in the mountain breeze
where the wildflowers have gone dormant and
their stems have turned brown.
A light gust of wind stirs above the tree line and
thin layers of stratospheric clouds streak across
the infinite horizon.
At the end of the trail a fire lookout sits on
flat granite boulders that rise out of
the glacial shelf.
Off to the west lies
the hum of civilization
and the ragged peaks of Three Finger Jack appear
far away in the opposite direction.
A ground squirrel scrambles over some rocks
in the scrub a few yards from where I am.
A bumble bee buzzes around my head
and the cleansing mountain wind
blows again.
At the edge of this cliff facing
the ashen volcanic peak of
is a good place for contemplation.
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