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Sky Pond

Cathedral glaciers pierce the sky,
Barren above the tree line.

Pussy paws clutch stone
And a shooting star hovers
Over your mirrored surface.

(or was that Emerald Lake. Not quite your brilliant blue)

We dip our feet in.
I take a plunge
And see a spotted trout,
Submerged and spooked.

A baptism to the glacier melt that may not be here in the end.

But you pull out a can of peaches
And watch the fishermen cast their rods
And kids cry and sleep on their parent’s backs.

The High Sierra or Rockies…
Uncertain, I dream of marmots and pika
And whispering grasses
Who knows a clockwork storm is near.