Imagine the highest mountain
You could climb in your mind,
Where early morning mist bathes
The frosted beargrass in pearly dew
And wild huckleberries offer
Their tart gift to fat pancakes
Cooked over an open fire.
Imagine all this
Seek out the stones
That have lost their voice,
Silent in the eddy and rage of water.
Listen, listen, and listen for a sound.
Then gather the stones around you
As a mother gathers lost children to her apron.
Lift up your silent stones
If we could but still all voices,
Cars, trains, planes,
Then lay our ear to the ground,
We could hear the song of the earth.
There is a gentle hum borne of the rise and fall
Of her molten heart and the rough comings and goings
Of her stoney mantle.
It is the song of a million millenniums
If we could but hear.
Then songs will rise from every mountain peak;
Stones will speak their truths.
Jerry Prater is a retired Emergency Department RN. Natural Areas volunteer.