Here in the Mountains

Recently I was in a local bookstore and rummaging around in the poetry section, hoping to get lucky.  And I did–lo and behold, a copy of David Whyte’s Fire in the Earth.  And since it’s less than 100 pages long, I’m not ashamed to admit that I read almost the whole thing in a day.  Almost.

There were several that I had to read several times over, but this was my favorite.  I could not find this anywhere online, so here it is from my copy.  You’re welcome.

The photo is of an aspen tree, special to us Coloradoans, as it begins to put out the cotton that will carry its seeds.  Soon there will be drifts of it, like fallen snow.  Enjoy.

Here In The Mountains

There is one memory deep inside you.

In the dark country of your life

it is a small fire burning forever.

Even after all these years

of neglect

the embers of what you have

known rest contented

in their own warmth.

Here in the mountains,

tell me all the things

you have not loved.

Their shadows will tell you

they have not gone,

they became this night

from which you drew away in fear.

Though at the trail’s end,

your heart stammers

with grief and regret,

in this

final night

you will lean down at last

and breathe again on the

small campfire of your

only becoming.

And draw about you

the immensity

of the black sky

which loves your fire’s


The deep shadow

that forever


you in its arms.

The low song

of the long

and patient night

that holds you

in your sleep

and stitches


with that impossible light

the dark blanket

from which you were born.

-David Whyte, from Fire in the Earth


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