Poem: Mount Shasta

Blue Bird Day at Mount Shasta – Bill Hamilton

 

Mount Shasta

Written June 17, 2017

I think it’s strange to see a mountain just sitting there, in the middle
of a field of yellow grass right by the road. That’s what it seems like anyway.

I think I could probably walk across the field and up the slopes to the
summit but I know it’s an illusion. It’s a long way to the mountain.

It’s a long way up the mountain which is probably unclimbable in places
especially the snow-capped slope nearing the top.

As well, there’s the heat.

We pull over on the Interstate and I step out of the air conditioning into
the 111 degrees Fahrenheit temperature.

I hold my camera up as the hot air settles on my skin, fills my mouth,
my throat and my lungs, and with all the air rushing in I almost forget
I still have to breathe.

Mount Shasta right in the centre. Fence by the road I would have to
climb over to cross the field in the foreground.

Dad’s been at the wheel since early morning.

When I’m back in the car I put my camera in my bag with my autograph
book and we drive on to the steak restaurant at the next turnoff.

 

by Wendy Stewart

 

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