A Poem Inspired by Glacier National Park

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At Goat Lick     

by a.l.graysay

It was cold. Colder than cool

And wet, with spring barely in sight

The ice reaching its thin but lengthy bony fingers toward the asphalt parking lot

where it had been melted snow earlier in the day.

And though it was May, and the sun had been out,

The tall larches and pines now started to shade the vista

bringing a chill that could freeze a person

under the clear Montana sky.

The light was still bright, over the other valley, where we looked

to mountains. And at our feet

in that cold

where there was little other food to be seen

were the tiniest of strawberry plants.

Wild strawberries, there, growing next to the icy limbs

a bright red fruit next to its white flower, hiding across yards

of green.

No goat had taken it

no visitor had seen it.

and as my daughter squatted in her short stout

toddler body, she grinned with recognition

and gently touched the berry, looked at it,

then walked over and took my hand

over to the trail.

 

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