An Enchanted Place
Before the steep ascent up
Old Rag Mountain we walked
amid oak, maple and hickory trees
Then climbed past fields of wild flowers—
columbine, milkweed, nodding onion,
white bloodroot, and those whose
names I never knew
We scrambled over ragged rocks
on the Ridge trail— collected
shards of granite, zigzagged
on switchbacks until we arrived
at the top where boulders smoothed
by time and water basked in the sun
I read some psalms—
Words of praise
reverberated in the crisp air, syllables
dispersed over granite formations
and echoed across the mountains
Holy, Holy, Holy
