The Mountain Speaks

View from Pike's Peak, Colorado, USA


Huddled low within the snow,
wind whipped into a freshened storm,
becoming what the climber knew,
would drink of all he knew as warm.

Drifting mem’ries from far below,
a house and home across the sea,
where summer winds would beckon him,
to come and lift his spirit free.

In dizzied heights and slowly climb,
a mountainside – no two the same.
Not some foreign place to wander …
each holy place, without a name.

Against the sky where angels tread,
this was where true love was found.
Stepping slowly, reach the summit,
stand in awe, then turn around.

But ah! descent a lasting measure,
time to savor a journey’s end,
and trace the trail with certainty,
now his weight – a hand to lend.

Recall the granite face of God,
smiling brightly meant life is good,
but if it frowns and shadows roll,
His temper must be understood.

For creeping o’er the ragged peaks,
unbridled wind from a distant sea,
leaves sculptures frozen on the peaks,
then cascades onward to be free.

And having left this crystal palace,
in blankets o’er the rock and bone,
spirits will gather on the mountain,
to take a heedless climber home.

16 thoughts on “The Mountain Speaks

    • We were there last Sept to ride the Cog RR to the top, it was a gamble since the weather had been bad all week, the summit was 20 degrees with a foot of snow. We heard a hiker talking to the engineer on the way down. He nearly lost his way on the ascent, and only the sound of the train lead him to the tracks and safety. Climbing is amazing but fraught with peril.

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