I watch the mountains wake,
sitting cross-legged
in the dark just before dawn.
The birds begin
their morning songs.
A cardinal cries
for its mate.
A rooster in the distance
wakes the whole valley.
Light pours over
the ridge line
like a cup overflowing,
as the black outline
of Mt. Pisgah
turns slowly to blue.
Do you ever get lonely
up there by yourself? they ask.
The trees answer for me,
waving in the wind at me
as I sip my coffee.
The earth answers for me,
giving roots to all my relations.
It was the city
that made me lonely,
the crowded bars
that broke my heart.
I was sick to my soul
before I found this
mountain medicine.
Now I breathe deep
among the leaves,
my heart near to bursting
with the beauty
all around me.
No, I’m not lonely
here at all,
sitting cross-legged
watching the mountains wake.
I am free.
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