22nd Birthday: On Bartram's Trail

I was born a mountain
pushed up and out
onto the surface of the earth
reaching for the light
wrapping me with warmth
and found fog
rain, streams
softening my skin

I know what it is like
to be hugged by a cloud
and to have the sun
play with wind
and shadows
creating a profile silhouette:
the dark ridge of my nose
lips, chin
crisp in the fading light
of another day gone by

I can feel
the mist tickling my trees
butterflies kissing
my leaves
and mushrooms
growing from broken branches
and other dying pieces of me
reminding me
life is not linear
and to learn
from the clouds that clear the mind
by clouding the mountains around me
that shower me in steam
and raindrops to refuel
the streams which steal sunlight
carrying it off in ripples over rocks
and swirls around stones
only to be lifted up again
cycling in circles
that tell me the truth
about the clock I cling to
and how the hands lie
about the value of numbers
and that what is most important
is not the tip of the arrow
but the bend of the bow