Delight

In the mid-1980s I lived three months in the French Alps. This poem points toward the Grace of a late afternoon/early evening mountainous return trek to my village, in which I was blessed with heavily falling snow and lightning.

Delight

Stealthy winds whisper
through nearly behemoth
Vercors’
Alpine trees,

who,
- otherwise -
silently witness
my steep descent.

Darkness privileges itself.

Profusions of snow pixels
- plenteous -
cavort en mass.

Yet too,

slowly submit their fates
to gravity’s seducing insistence.

Lollygagging,

these crystalline architectural marvels
are refectory to a
lightning’s fare
of soul candy.

Thunder pounds the rigidities
of my domestication.

My rousing sentience
drinks deeply
on these Earthly
and atmospheric
libations.

© 2012 Stephen Victor