Up in the hills where the tall pines are
Just along the rippling creek
Where the cut banks rise high
In rough granite faces and the eagles glide,
There is something I have forgotten and
Left far behind in the remote corners of childhood,
Something just beyond where the water carves into the rock,
Within the beating heart of the mountains,
Inside the infinite, blinding sky.
I remember breathing in the taste of wonder in the clean, alpine air,
Watching my father cast his line,
His tall figure at ease with the gurgling flow of the mountain stream, and I, blending into the forest winds,
Leaving an imprint of myself in case I should return again.
Today, she stood with me along the edges of the turbulent waters that polish the bottom rocks.
Her five year old fingers held mine.
She pulled me along the banks, laughing.
Did you see it?
Just for a moment,
In my eyes:
A child in an unnamed, unbroken place,
Watching the dipping of her father's line
Into the waters of a moment
Forever suspended between the mountains of time.