East of Black Mountain
J. Quinn Brisben
Black Mountain is red this morning,
A frosty glow picking out turning
And still attached leaves on deciduous
Trees among the green conifers which
Will show black enough when the light
Is less direct. Uneven ground threatens,
And my cane sinks through the leaves
To something oddly angled and upsetting.
I must follow the sun over the mountain.
No slow idle on my mind. Others can look
Forever at one mountain. I can only
Move on and learn to negotiate
Tricky slopes and let remembering
Of mountains yeast up in me.
