with a whir and a bounce
I drop into the canyon;
with coyote cunning
Sinawava waits for me.
a warm morning sun
comforts the adrenalin
gnawing inside my veins
sounds of birds and distant voices
echo against twisted labyrinth walls,
clear waters tiptoe
with sparkling twinkles
through shallow streams below;
all the while
sweet mountain air absorbs my being
without warning
an impetuous sky wells up,
coal-colored clouds
swirl and whirl
barking with abrupt crescendo,
as the simple patter of droplets
turn to steamy showers,
walls of rock begin to weep
with dead branches and
loose rock,
grumbling as they jettison down.
with sharpened senses,
seeking higher ground,
hands grope for
holds in a changing wall
as feet stumble like
an awkward teenager,
mind trying to catch up to body.
a bluster of upstream water
collides into a now roiling stream
rushing with a bellow
unforgiving,
leaving sloppy sludge
in its wake.
the fleeting chaos
passes
scurrying squirrels,
and twittering birds
reappear,
luring me back . . .
The Temple of Sinawava
awaits.
anke hodenpijl
October 19, 2012
