Today, the 13th, was my 12th day hike on Roan Mountain in NC. White froth whipped up in the valleys raced over the balds as I walked. The forests below are glowing with reds and yellows, burnished golds. Such a lovely patchwork of color.
Where clouds are born 
and goats have fed
the cheerful bluet
blossoms still.
That's where I'll be-
out on the Trail
traversing each
dear mountain hill.
Blueberries still cling to the bushes, which are now mounds of fushia and burgundy. I've never lived anywhere where I could pick blueberries in October! What a treat...
I found evidence of bear along the trail Sunday, also heard and saw six ravens with their various calls, gliding, soaring, diving on the updrafts. In a muddy place what looked like wild boar tracks were sunken deep, as I had seen on the hill behind the house last week.
Mountain Balds
shrouded in mist:
dragons' breath
rising from some
primordial lair;
exhale of dinosaurs;
ancient snows' droplets
cling to grass and branch.
ethereal other-world
guarding secrets
yet to be revealed.
What a lovely autumn we are having and I am blessed to be here at this time.
Colors fading
leaves swirling
bold wind
takes them
where it will
leaving bare hope
of tender sprouts
after the cold
of winter.
and one more inspired by that magical place:
Whispers of memories
from yesteryears
echo off rocks,
wrap like wraiths
around tree-shadows-
curling, clinging,
shifting substance-
here and then gone.
Nothing to hang on to.
Why look back?
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