from The High Country Moor and the 13 Phases of the Solar Moon
frozen tarn at high moor (13)

Deep, fluffy, snowshoe snow, falling
day after day. No wind, the ground
slowly rising, covering color,
rocks, small trees;

smoothing out the many variegated
accents and differences of the summer
moor into long, white, sweeping,
elegant, legato lines suspended
in time like clouds to be
walked upon.

      If you could see it, the moon would seem
      so close that you could poke a pole at it.

No path, even the grouse don't seem to be about, and
the pool has vanished without a trace.

They say there are places so powerfully peaceful and
quiet, that, if one were to play a properly tuned, long
wooden alpine horn in the right direction,
at the right moment,

      that the sound of the higher partials would carry
      over every visible peak
      and beyond,

      and in some deeply forested,
      remote valleys,

             not be heard for more
             than a million years.

| go to ListeningPage: Timberline (1) and (2) [QuickTime]; or listen in RealAudio |
(Photo: The Eye of the Moor: an endangered glacier tarn, looking East, the Alps (click on photo to enlarge))

| go to Picture/Poems: Central Display | back to PicturePage: Week I |
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IV.7.1999; Last update: III.30.2002)
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