I always thought change was fluid…but the Yellowstone mountains constantly change.
The mountains teach me change is solid. Yet each hour is different.
Cloud shadows, sun, peaks, rain, hills, snow, sand, boulders, gravel, grasses,
flowers, streams, trees, lakes, pines, fire, cactus, sagebrush, dandelions and daisies. Grizzlies, buffalo,
white pelicans, wolves, antelope, elk, snakes, fish… all call it home.
Shirred cliffs—with history etched on the walls of ancient glacial fissions.
Parched acres of charred pine trunks, witness the change and birth by fire.
Lighting strikes. Leaves a touchstone of nature’s power, ignites. The infectious flames consume until the sky quells death—with snow, rain.
Winds blow the torch of fiery death and sow the seed of new life.
Charred trunks, stripped of ornamental glory stand erect as ship’s masts. Other giant poles felled—criss-cross the forest’s floor—make room for the future. Beds of nutrients remain; spawn.
New green covers the land, sprouts pine—its young promise cleared to grow.