Windsong Over Glacier Gorge
A tribute to a special wilderness sanctuary
I caught a glimpse of movement among the snow-covered boulders. Just a flash of brown, then gone. At first, I believed it was a marmot, recently awakened from its long winter hibernation. It disappeared into the rocks on the ridge but soon reappeared around a corner. It bounded toward me, its face eager and inquisitive.
It came within ten feet of me, paused, and then said hello. It was a marten: slender like a weasel, although bigger and stockier, with sharp, pointed ears. It had a triangular face with patches of white fur around its eyes — kind of a reverse raccoon. Its dark brown body and white chest were complemented by a bushy, rust-colored tail.
After a brief introduction, it launched itself past me and upward, leaping and bounding atop enormous rocks effortlessly. I was amazed by its quickness across this broken terrain. Suddenly, it was gone, leaving me to ponder its existence up here at thirteen thousand feet. I mulled over that mystery, saddened by the emptiness it left behind.
Soon, my reverie was broken by a visit from another alpine denizen. A mountain raven swooped by — under my airy perch above Glacier Gorge. It cawed its way upward from the abyss to greet me at my level.
Glacier Gorge was a stage, a stadium, an amphitheater of epic proportions. Created for giants and angels and Gods. Longs Peak, The Keyboard of the Winds, Pagoda, Chief’s Head, McHenry’s Peak, and Thatchtop form a bowl like a fortress.
The Painter of this scene had only three colors in His divine palette. Chocolate brown, brilliant white, and the deepest azure. The light and shadow played in alternating lines, sweeping in long arcs downward for thousands of feet. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven stalwart spires rose upward to dizzying heights.
Along its profile was a waffle pattern of snow and rock. Broad couloirs and tiny gullies danced together in graceful geometries. There were tottering rocks pitched on the brink, strokes of a bakers frosting in the snow, a blanket of glaciers and ice, krummholz and low willows clinging to life, fields of loose talus and scree, lakes and tarns camouflaged in white, broad cliff faces forming walls, corridors, and steeply pitched roofs.
All of this and more formed the sides and basin of this massive fortress amphitheater. And filling this great bowl to overflowing was clean, crisp, cold air — invisible, and yet a tangible presence.
The air was so thin here that even the raven had difficulty staying aloft. And yet, to me, it seemed thick and fluid, as if I could leap off this ledge and dive into its depths, swimming in a liquid crystal sky.
Suddenly, I was flying among the parapets and palisades, the bridges and battlements. I swooped to buzz the tips of the cathedrals, a plume of sunlit diamonds glittering in my wake. My being, flying exultant, was guarded by the throngs of angels seated in this grand stadium, here to watch the awesome spectacle of a free soul.
All too soon, it was over. I had to return home from this sanctuary in the sky. I left feeling both filled and empty, not sure I wanted to face the drudgery of life below. I stalled as long as I could and then raced down the mountain back to my car, resigned to my fate. But it was not really over. No experience ever is.
In time, I realized that my summit sanctuary had returned with me. As I performed monotonous and interminable tasks at work, I sensed the inquisitive marten peering over my shoulder. And was that the raven’s shadow swooping by as I sat in a traffic-clogged construction zone in my old Jeep? And when the army of worries, like buzzing gnats, came circling me, they couldn’t get past the fortress of snow-capped, sun-kissed spires that towered upward in my mind.
This piece will be included in my upcoming book “Gratitude — A Wilderness Journal to Heal Your Soul.” I’ll keep you posted as it goes through the final stages of production
Upcoming Art Shows:
May 10-11 Mothers’ Day Sale @ The Red Door Arts and More - 7510 Hygiene Rd, Longmont, CO 80503 11:00 - 4:00
May 24-26 Memorial Day @ Estes Art Market
