Rock Solid

The peaks are covered with
the softest white blanket,
the baby blue heaven is
streaked with cotton candy,
then slowly, like red peaches,
sun slipping into sleep.

How long have the mountains
been here?
When did they arrive, when
will they leave?
Silent sentries, steadfast,
moving ever so slowly,
with conviction.

And we have been here longer.
We will survive the survivors.
We are anchored to the very
center of the earth, rock solid,
while at the same time birthing
the furthest constellations.

The peaceful snow scene,
the tiny sparkling mirrors,
the thin, luminous arc of a
moon, like a quick brushstroke-
these lovely, silent messengers,
reminding us.

What we are is deeply,
and irrevocably
what is.