Ramona Falls’ Mist

Ramona’s whisper requites us to ourselves—our fires extinguished, our thirst sated.

That voice, a pact between mountain and moisture, is a quiet call to us

The stumbling pilgrims, forest wanderers, wishful sages who suffer from acute chatter.

Its language—slow—near wordless, near nothing, paints upon the brow reminders…

Of lost talk of the ancient shape of myths, wrapped around delicate, heavy truths,

Source of our combined story.

 

We arrive with city hands, parched

To drink for the first time—again.

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17 thoughts on “Ramona Falls’ Mist”

  1. The oxymoron ending is powerful and lingers. I have been permanently misted and mystified by this, a delightful spell your writing always leaves me with.

    Liked by 3 people

  2. It’s a beautiful falls. A little higher, 5 miles or so, and you can stand right next to Mt. Hood on Yocum Ridge. Steep. The glacier used to come right up the the trail’s end, but it has receded.

    Like

  3. You’re an observer, Elan. You see things in great detail and find a way to encompass these visuals with the perfect lines of prose and poetry. I see you as someone who can teach me ways to view the world. Mazeltov!

    Liked by 2 people

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