The lookout at Christoff Peak is gone, but the views live on.
CHRISTOFF PEAK
We come to a place
Where trails die
Where alder is king
And brush hides the Emperors Throne
From those who don’t know the way.
We start from the bottom
Of the mountain
On a road that has no name
Except to the men
Who knew these roads by heart,
Who tried and failed
To break the mountain but
The alders always came back
And the money was spent in bars.
Thistles and daisies
Border
Roads so overgrown
That we break the tips of alder branches
To mark our way
Below bleached landings
Where timber was never hauled away
Where views of Mount Rainier begin
And bones of small animals
Pondered, a jawbone taken home
The only piece
Of the mountain we carry away.
We find
Our way to the summit
Through meadows
Thick with Indian paintbrush, lupine and asters
Tiger lilies glow
Like Tiffany lamps
In the gloom of
Old-growth forest.
In these dry days
We play Hide and Seek
With Time;
Though birthdays loom and
There is danger ahead
We rest on the mountain
As if we meant to stay.
Karen Sykes (late August, 2011)
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