Even North and South Bubble
embrace at the edge of Jordan Pond.

Thousands have bouldered
To see what they see:
The cold ocean fog advancing
Like an eager hand,
Red kayak puckering the inlet like lips,
Wind waking ripples in still morning water,

Their forever view.

At the base of the summit trail, I know
the image at the top will differ from my imaginings,
Rock ledges may block small beauties below.

Years from now, I hope I remember:
that which distance, obstacles obscure
still exists–
Somewhere below, a family of grebes
wakes together, starts
toward the water.