Deep In The Somewhere Past

deep in the somewhere morning
as the valley awakens
below a bloated mountain
where winter snow yet rests

tang of new bud and leaf
sails on a breath of wind
birds dash tree to tree
in filtered forest light
creeks giddy with snowmelt
sun blazes in deep blue sky

where lake meets shore
Pleistocene vegans
strip leaves from oak and willow
graze on thick grasses

no sign of the coming ruin

deep in the somewhere below
spring-loaded with secret tension
valley welded to mountain
millennia of expectation
satisfied in an instant
as the grip is lost
the suture splits

heard as much as felt
shifting earth grumbles
surface waves spread
faster than sound
and ruffle the land

deep in the somewhere above
the heavy brow of the mountain
forever as the Earth itself
responds to the temblor

in one thunderous crack
and hundred-mile echoes
a cubic mile of rock
no longer embraced
splits and falls away
and drops from the ridge

a low rumble builds to cacophony
as skyscraper chunks
of basalt and granite
crack and tumble
pulverize themselves

they shove ahead a hurricane wind
and the brief terrific slide
snaps trees
flattens woodland
batters scrapes scours
a viscous pulp of landscape
feeding the growing slurry

the colossal avalanche plows into
quiet waters of the ancient lake
a massive explosion
of sand and fish
willow and water
sends rings of titanic waves
that flush every shore

luckless vegetation and wildlife
homes families livelihood
swept away buried forgotten
in a few terrible minutes

as rock debris settles
monster ripples
bounce shore to distant shore
slosh for hours then days

the greedy lake devours
bucolic meadows
primeval woods
erases swamps and streams
their animals their plants their people

clear placid waters
once teeming
troubled only by wind
now a broth of dark sludge
a churning stew of mangled earth
and wood and bodies

billowing cumulonimbus dust dissipates
the morning ridge now only memory
but the reveal somehow familiar
a sheer thousand-foot
rampart of dark rock in its place

thousands of years on
the naked face of the once cohesive ridge
wind and water etched
whittled away to tremendous ribs

above a place we call home
Widojkym Jamanim
from the Maidu
-the thing that you pick mountain-
our own Thompson Peak was born
deep in the somewhere past