the sky gathers greyness and weight
and pushes itself upon us blanketing us with
anticipation in the stillness and the stirring smell of approaching snow.
You may recognize the mountain by name or shape
but to truly know her is to walk the contours of her mass,
to watch her reveal the secrets of the seasons,
to remember and to feel the spirits of all the other feet
who have touched her and whose hearts have found home.
First the sap runs, then drum drum drums
drop by drop into the buckets.
Soon to be simmered, then rolling boiled into maple syrup.
Oh that sweet sweet nectar of the mountain.