To Awaken
by Odin Roark

High above canyon’s floor,
To open my eyes
While being held firm and warm
In bivouac’s rope, carabiners and goose down,
Is to stare and listen to other worldliness.

Like a paintbrush
Before a virgin canvas,
My ears await selection’s decision:
Audible colors infusing reality
Into imagination’s collage.

Far below comes clearly
The smell of damp moss,
Amidst animals foraging,
Knowing instinctively
Joy’s ochre hue of daily tasks.

Updrafts of mulch,
Of alpine flowers reaching for the void,
Await rising sun’s energy
Moving closer with orange reward.

The anthill of early risers,
Hunters of tiny morsels,
Seek early dawn’s struggle-worthy bounty,
Earth-tone transport,
Destined for the kingdom
Of Time’s perfection.

The pine tops echo forth
A mountain stream’s glacial white
Smiling at my listening
Respectfully hushing beguiling impurities.

Above me,
The still frigid mountain’s face
Discovering another wrinkle
And grimacing like the crack
Of a knuckle stretching
Awaits blue-gray frost to wane.

Layered colors
Background the horizon’s silhouette
Of eagle’s wings fluttering waves
Of pity, thinking me insane,
Yet offering shadow’s essence
For my canvas growing.

Eventually…

Nature’s masterpiece
Echoes its fortissimo of wisdom,
Teaching this creature affixed to a mountain wall
That amidst all life’s deafening silence
To live with earth,
Not upon it,
Is to truly awaken.