Spring on Big Mountain

Dusk arrives as I gaze through my dusty
back window to the crown of the greening

mountain. Yesterday I heard the first cry
of the whippoorwill. The warbling

caw vibrated up and down
my spine like a tiny lighting bolt. I have heard

dark stories about this mountain. Neighbors
say at the turn of the century

a moonshiner was shot dead by Cates
Creek. But there are little jolts

of light everywhere:  goldenrod,
wild petunias & pale minature

orchids, thousands
of white trillium jutting up.