The Mountain Is Still Alive

Mountains are patient.
They sit at the edge of the plains for a long time
as millennia blow by
morphing clouds in the jet stream
before anything like us appears on the foothills. 
And in that ancient space a mountain is sacred
    to behold–

holy, magic mountain
bridge between earth and sky
a place where Gods live.

The mountain does not wait long
for the first to climb into her meadows
not long before we suckle from her breast
and declare ourselves her children. 

In time we grow and the mountain accepts tunnels and towns
bridges and roads.  Because mountains are patient. 
Perhaps we misunderstand the silence
or confuse the echo of our question in the canyon
for an affirmation of our quest for gold.   

Mining is a dangerous business. 
I write this as I read the paper.
6 miners trapped in a Utah coal mine.
3 rescuers dead in accident as the mountain trembles.
The president of the mine company says,
“The mountain is still alive.” 
Rare acknowledgment.

The mountain is still alive.