Cirque at Journey’s End

Jackson Glacier rests in its coffin, a cirque

A cirque is like the tombstone of a deceased glacier.  While it “lived” the glacier slid down a valley gathering rocks, tearing them loose from canyon walls.  Pushed by tremendous weight upstream, the river of ice moves uphill sometimes at its lower reaches, like water from a spring.  But as the planet warms, glaciers melt more ice in the summers than they gain in winter snow.  Having “survived” for thousands of years, they shrink and “die.”

Where a glacier gives its death rattle is often at a low place in the valley where it “lived,” leaving a pile of rocks where it dies.  Jackson Glacier, shown here, is one of only twenty-five remaining glaciers in Glacier National Park.  In 1850 there were about 150.  By 2030, all glaciers will be gone, according to estimates.  Later in this trip I plan to walk, spikes on my boots, on one of the last, and to think words of hope for the dying. 

Cirque at Avalanche Lake

In Requiem

I stand at center stage

before a gathered crowd

thunderous applause from waterfalls

Ladies Aspen prim in yellow gowns

Gentlemen Fir in smart green suits

limestone critics who own the place

all awaiting my performance  

overture of rustled leaves

deep breath

a requiem for the fallen

who made this auditorium  

Western Red Cedar

Each of your ancestors

moved you a little farther

from where you began

your ancestral start

along the Pacific Coast

your parents could not raise you

so they gave you

long eyes and unsettled spirit

and you went a little further

than they dared

and now your feet dig firm

in alien soil

moist pacific air

blocked by rocky peaks

allows you giant cedars

here to thrive

you stay a while

enjoy the edge of possibility

but go no further

you and I near the end

of our natural range

Tree Cemetery  

Some time ago

These trees stood

tall and brave

now they rest in peace

if anyone does

under moss and leaves

not grass like us

their peers go on

and take their space

in a forest mostly dark   

Aspen Leaves in Fall

They applaud
with trembling hands
perhaps with a bit of fear
their lives nearly done

beauty  is not theirs alone

but comes with sunlight

maker with made

I wait as clouds move

perhaps with plan

to cast a sunbeam

on waiting trees

they awaken

with unearned brilliance

among unlit peers    

not achieving

enlightened state

on their own

but one watching from afar

sees that they are chosen 

Notice the dark clouds in these photographs and think of Tim Callahan’s recent poem:

“Low over high hills in sullen heat

grey laden clouds threaten to rain.

They threaten. Yet, no drop of rain

is down-falling, down-falling to cleanse,

to cleanse the hot turbid air.”

Neither heat nor turbid air plague this cold place, but the storms continue to threaten.