Basalt Creek

It is a simple thing,

I park in the alcove-like ring,

I get out of my car one step at a time,

And make my way through the Douglas tree line.

Soon the echoing cracks of branches and leaves,

Becomes sticky swampy mud under the eaves

So I leap across dry rocks with gentle thuds,

A few steps before I leap over a patch of mud,

And cling onto a rock larger than my body.

After pulling myself up, I start to roam,

Gentle waves brush against volcanic stone,

And further away the murky river roars,

Though when free of rain it shines like opal.

This place is a secret I keep away from locals,

Here ever breath of fresh air feels clean,

Even the tones of fish aren’t mean.

The gentle waterside breeze blows,

I find my place and down I go,

On the smooth patch next to the darker rock,

I lay in a shallow crevice that fits me like a sock,

With the incline supporting my head like a pillow,

Here I can’t see truck exhaust as it billows,

Or the sound of cars whizzing beyond the leaves,

All I hear is the gentle rustle of brush and trees,

Birds singing, and the water as it sweeps.

I look around at the mountains across me,

Tall and untouched, snow still sits atop them,

Here before me and there for those who will later come.

I look up even higher at the cerulean sky so rare,

Blue sky and white clouds I don’t want to share,

I follow a hand-like cloud as it creeps by,

This is a magic little world just for my eyes.

I close my eyes to take a nap,

Knowing high tide won’t approach my natural hammock.

With the basalt against my back like a bed,

The sun beams cleansing my head,

The moments of shade as birds soar over me,

Nothing but nature as far as my eyes can see,

Here I’m at peace,

Here my worries cease,

Here I become one with stone,

Here I am home.