The Great Black

Part of my world traveling collection.

The Himalayan sun cast sharp silhouettes
beneath wind-battered Lung Ta flag lines
Weary travelers pass silently
a few steps ahead of dusk’s creeping touch,
Tomorrow they trek the Barun valley.

Gathered around a table laden with dried yak meat
and buttered chamba bowls,
hush murmurs wrap the table in warmth,
Challenged by whining winds
and popping juniper logs.
we escaped the cold shadow of Mount Makalu.

As the moon rose above the snow-capped peaks
The weathered words of our Sherpa fell,
guiding crude etchings into carved willow,
” The great black remembers.”