What are the chances one sweet Sunday
you’re snowshoeing in sun just passing
a girl guide troupe with raised open palms
enchanting Whiskey Jacks to alight
Coastal Range holding their mystic line
Salish Sea shimmers like raindrop diamonds
And you’re hoping these picks hold steady
Save your neck from the icy risk at the rim
You stall as you feel its presence
Silent watcher eyes your stumble through
White stallion in camouflage in plain view
From above I saw them
Trio of pale mountain travellers
Sipping slipstream cooling parched tongues
Coats reflective of filtered autumn sun
Unhurried untamed unworried
Aware yet unmoved by human presence
I stood watching still as a stone
And imagined us as one untethered beast
Oh fleet footed wild ones
Were I able I’d run with you
After winds at our backs
Manes like wings flashing as we gallop high
To perilous wanderings of these unpredictable shadowy mountains
Pencil Notes 