In the morning light
The hoodoos rise
Bringing fire
To the canyon
The hoodoos rise
Bringing fire
To the canyon
Thus they shone
Close to bone
A feat not
Taken lightly
Until
The rain
Did fail
I watched it pucker and peel
In successive seasons
Of wet, then cold, then wet again, then heat
Since decades past
The last thing on your mind
Is an avalanche
But it shouldn’t be
Wouldn’t it be nice
If the paths we could take in life
Were marked like ski runs
A trickle at first
Then a torrent
Then a tumult
Until the space filled
In a thunderous storm
They come to rise up
Then to speed down
To glide on silken slopes
The graceful arc of edges