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Days in the Hills
by Ronald A PavellasSan Jose's hills rise above the fog that fills the valleys
The city is heard but not seen. Trees and rocks are here: the dying leaves, the green shoots
Ignore the city's distant roar Low sunlight reveals Arachne's glimmering shroud
Blanketing felled leaves --- East Wind blows swiftly, surely, as the eagle flies,
Pulling sun aloft Gusts roll endlessly, bending the brush, flushing a bobcat.
They know its power Wind and trees combine in counterpart, balancing:
A robust embrace My calm hill does not yield, giving purchase
To beings unwilling to fly --- Tall grass pretends to yield to man in his ambition
Then encloses him A hawk! She dives, swoops, glides --
At ease in setting sunlight --- Insect-buzzy day, foxtails toss back bright sunlight,
Nodding their welcome Mountain ridges build silently toward the sky,
Hiding dark canyons Folds of female hill, shrub-covered, sheltering life --
Mating butterflies! Buzzards soar swiftly, from ridge to ridge and back again,
Silently searching --- March winds in autumn, and graceful golden poppies bloom:
Nature's playful whim A lull between rainstorms yields an abstract sky seemingly confused
By change of wind and season --- A two-hill climbing day, each a home to white-tailed kites,
Hiding now from the blazing sun The wise say there are many paths to the one place sought,
So as with this hill. This deer path is now my path -- up, up, through brush
Deep, full breaths. A startled family gives wide berth to this sweating beast
Who now claims his lush-green hilltop --- A scrub jay waits for me on the fence rail at the end of the path
But scrams as I arrive Late fall sun, obscured by haze, diffusely casts its shadows
As its radiance burns through The quiet hillside rests; trees, brush, grasses -- all are still.
Only insects move --- The familiar path is rent by the rainstorm's torrents,
Showing naked earth Yes, the rock, the oak are here after the deluge.
It is a comfort See how the streams flowed, running over man's patterns,
Carving creeks and gullies In time, all will flow down hill with waters seeking their source;
The rocks and trees will go Man will have gone too,
But now he has the Oak and Rock as unchanging friends. 09/23/2002 Posted on 09/23/2002
Copyright © 2024 Ronald A Pavellas
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