Among aspen

The Caldor Fire cut short my summer aspen wanderings. Right now, one of the hot spots is threatening (or has burned) some of the groves. Here’s a poem from decades ago:

Aspen Grove

Somewhere between French Camp

and Tanglefoot, my dog and I started up

the trail, climbing hairpins through dusty hot –

ceanothus, manzanita – up to a sudden

midst of silent green community.

Family of aspen all of a root,

relations without words.

The language confusing at first.

My dog stopped in the trail, sniffed breeze,

cocked her ears. Every aspen leaf a-tremble,

origami – if paper could be so delicate.

Skin of paper, as if someone had written

a history of snow over rock over snow.

Centerpiece of one living tree

with so many minds; a net of roots

to hold the mountain together.

Whispers I couldn’t quite hear, angels

on the breeze of a half-moon day. My dog

stood listening. Shiver-cool of noon.

~ Taylor Graham

from Uplift (www.coldriverpress.org)