Humming of the Rotors

As we do every morning

we pumped, and then stretched

in a circle

on our sleeping pads

even though we likely could have

used the ground, as it was neither

gravelly nor damp

We walked far

from our tarps, not a hike

but enough to catch the sun's rays

stumbling across iced rock

leaping over the snow-driven streams

and through bristly grasses

we, ready, nearly, to awake

at the call of today's Leader

and behind us rose the mountains

Last night,

although so late it was really this morning,

we woke to the flapping

hum of rotors, above our tarp

the urgency, calls to come assist, haze

we spread out and listened to the men

give orders, professionally affable

we carried him

over bumps in the ground that felt

like mountains bursting

from the core, halted

before each canyon, cautioned

those fighting feet in wake

each boulder, patch of worry

systematic we all convey

past the warm place

the kind we gather every morning

but unlike any any, morning without

our friend.

Author's Note

Written October '12
Don't worry, no deaths were involved.