These hills merge into the blue on blue,
on whose slopes elk roam the rocky trails,
following each other one at a time,
stopping now and then for nourishment
then move on.
With nothing between
but sunlight and birdsong,
leaving you and me in wonderment
far behind.
Looking out over the wide ocean,
until recently this headland was underwater.
As the world turns the pacific plate
continues to grind away and slowly push
the coast northward.
Thus uplift, mountains, and of course,
those famous fault lines.
From where I stand I sometimes wonder.
If my world were to have set sail
on its own mountain,
would it have avoided the fall
whose shadow is everywhere?
Stephen Cipot
Garden City Park