Rooted darkly down primeval depths,
The mountain lifts its sunlit slopes skyward.
While flinty spines dive fervently downward
Between wetted walls of secret hollows.

Rain comes, springs burst forth,
The outward flow becomes a stream.
Seeds root their way through rock ribs,
Feverishly anticipating a greater life to come.

Today, deer and bear and bird range above,
Moles, foxes and ground squirrels burrow below.
Tomorrow, quakes may raise cave walls
Into sunlight and rocky peaks turn darkly sullen.

Inside, darkness and light dwell side-by-side,
Languor weds warmth and joy to abject sadness,
The living come to bury their dead,
And the mountain is simply the mountain.