Wolverine Stew: Painted Mountain

There is a deep rolling green at the

Base surrounding a small, clear lake, where

If you tilt your head to listen to the ground, you can see

How the waters make a still reflection

Of the perfect circle of leaves to each tree

The lake is fed by streams of thawed lightning

Coming down from the grey clouds that are

The gold-wood upper borders of this world

I wonder if there is a peak

The greens meld together on the mountain

Unsure whether to be trees or grass or moss

But there is a gentle slope to it all

One to get closer to, to walk and rest at one’s own pace

And maybe you will cross that rainy border of the world

Into some vast sky, blue and shining

But me, I am content here at the base

Wrapped in green reflections and that thought

Of going just a little further up each day