Verte Libre: Of Roots and Ridges

My first thought was to wish for my camera, but that was wrong.  It could not have captured what I was seeing - the lone ten foot fir whipped by the wind until it rippled and waved and looked as if it'd unearthed its roots and was spinning in place.  It made me think of Orpheus, his music so magical that the trees wrenched themselves from the ground and danced and followed him until he calmed them back into the earth.  Struggling up past the tree, the wind stealing my breath, it felt like it might reach out and touch me, but like the thirty or more times I'd passed along this ridge, that didn't happen.  Still, I was happy to continue on, unearthed and running.  Only now can I hear the music.  


Vert Libre: free-form poetry and observations from the trail