January 31, 2009

What the Mountain Says


Some days I can tell what the mountain is saying.
Light plays against each leaf, so close
I could hold the mountain here in my hand.
Cloud shadows pass over, giving homage.
The tall mountain ash quivers in the wind,
a girl new to womanhood,
shining light back at the mountain.
The pokeberry spreads gloriously
at the base of the mountain,
mirroring its shape like a cool lake.
The cat and kitten tumble and scurry,
joyous to live by the mountain.
The locust tree holds her long arms perfectly still,
to frame the mountain in beauty.
I feel the mountain only in my heart.
The mind can hear but not know.
The mountain's heart speaks to my heart,
but her meaning is deeper, from the womb.
Perhaps I bleed some of the mountain into the ground.
Perhaps she pulls me into her, 
making me die, making me be born.

Annelinde Metzner copyright 2003

Herrin Cove


Herrin Cove

The spirits are strong here.
"Here, here, here," sings the crow
from three places I can't trace.
In Appalachia water is everything,
and here in Herrin Cove, She is audible.
She runs, she runs, and honoring her,
from bits of earth in rocky crags
grow mosses, ground covers,
full-bearing blueberries and elder.
Far below are a thousand worlds,
where too, a waterfall rushes unseen by men.
Beneath each tree is a unique world, a home to many,
and the cove is spring-off point to bear, wolf and panther.
Lymph she is, this speaking water, underpinning all this green.
Wind comes upmountain, as chill as August can be.
Why don't I just lean back and sleep,
awash in the eternal water,
and dream?

Annelinde Metzner copyright 2003

Broad River


Broad River

Hunkered down at river-level,
whitewater roiling around unseen stones, 
the water roars through my veins.
People fish, and wade, and gaze, cleansing the soul.
"Look, Mom, a dragonfly," on our near shore,
and what a day!    The great blue heron,
a message from other worlds,
carries us with her, upstream, all geometry and colors.
"The water is wide, I cannot get o'er,"
but this is Heron's home, the swifter the better.
Kayakers of all colors spin and turn,
at one with the river's curves and dips,
her surprises new each day, each hour.
Couples stroll on the riverbank, for the river
reminds us of all time.
We are eternity, too, our blood roaring just as loud.
Though I hunker down beside you on a stone, Broad River,
I worship you just the same.

Annelinde Metzner      copyright 2006