Three Seasons on the High Sierra Trail

A footstep on the frozen grass begins
a journey 'cross an alpine meadow fair.
No trees, but rocks and grasses make the land
enchanted, fragile, open, mostly bare.

Down by the water, crystals fringe the edge
sparkling jewels in the morning light
twinkling crystals up against the sedge
melting quickly in the sunshine bright.

A few more steps and Spring is in the air.
Flowers fill it with their finest scents
colors splashed across the meadow fair
steadfast dwellers on the lofty bench.

Midmorning by the tarn beneath the pass
polished, scoured rocks belie the force
gouging, plucking, heaving, frigid mass
that shaped the valley and its river's course.

More steps then Summer shows her sunny face.
Trees grow fuller in the balmy glow.
A well-groomed trail brings on a quickened pace
with songs from wren and thrush, then squawky crow.

A startled bruin crashes through the brush,
bouncing doe flees up the thorny slope.
Lizards, chipmunks, squirrels in a rush.
The trip is almost done or so I hope.

Giant redwoods crowd around me now,
help me round the final dusky bend.
Crescent Meadow tells me it is through.
A magic journey finally finds its end.

Return to Kaweah Basin 1992