The sleepy mountain
awakes, sheds her veil
as the sun shreds
her midnight chemise
and the verdant chaparral
cloaking her shoulders
fills with the morning
twitters and trills
of courting birdsongs.
There are rivals to send
on the wing to other perches,
other sheltering bushes.
Foxes, bobcats, and hawks
to avoid, nests to construct,
the season’s urgency to begin.
My toe catches the root
of a madrone pitching me
towards the naked rocks
of the trail, but I grab
the skin-smooth red branch
of its sister and thank her.
The birds ignore me. Yes!
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