Standing Indian Mountain – March 2010

The Cherokee were right. A winged monster does live here:
    an ice dragon.

Crested now headed down I enter a tunnel
    of bowed rhodendron
         their branches heavy with ice
              wrapped around their cold curled leaves.

Despite the clear sky and brilliant morning sun
      its light filtering through the reverant branches and strobing as I walk
            It is the wind
                   southwest born
                         my Wisconsin bones recognize
                              as the wintry dragon’s breath,
                                   and I shiver as I walk
                                        looking down, carefully navigating
                                            the tangle of roots and rock
                                                  that hazard the trail.

The sun, though, rules this day
     putting te dragon on notice its rein will be shattered
         by strokes of spring lightening and rain.

But, this dragon is defiant still,
     and I hear its breath rise
          in the humbled branches above me.

The icy sheaths
   on the sun warmed leaves
      crack – splinter.

On me
         around me
            the stuff falls
                 like shards of frosted glass
                     covering the foot prints I have been following.