Snake Creek

Tired body aches. Long walk on starry night�"

ears attuned for bear at creek, or cougar.

Nothing, not a doe.

                            But that afternoon

came upon a healthy young buck in a meadow.

High up. And a hawk left a feather for me.

Old, old stands of lodgepole pine, grey bark

like wrinkled hides of elephants. Thick carpet

of dead needles.

                        Thirst. Sit at snowbank

for an hour eating snow. Burn tongue.

To soon after stumble upon a pond and the place

that a creek springs from the mountain. Water

indescribable. Eat ravenously and drink deep

gulps.

Climb highest rocky peak at dusk. Razor-back

ridge. Mother hawk scream nearby. Must

backtrack and then go straight down near dark

feet fall through layers of scrub pine, hands

grab for the live stalks only support against

broken bone.

                    Choose steep narrow bed of loose rocks,

surely waterfall in some other season and descend

on **** and all fours, feet first always fearful

it will end in an uncontrollable hundred foot drop.

Trickles of water nearing bottom.

                                                Cracked hands, raw

behind, cross final snowbank and attain road

along Snake Creek.