Potentilla

I wrote this many years ago after hiking Mount Washington and experiencing one of the worst storms during summer.  I think a tornado was reported on the mountain, which would be a rare event.  So this was probably in the 1980ies.

Potentilla

A top a mountain I sat, six thousand feet high

On the rocks, as I hung my clothes to dry,

I noticed a beautiful flower nearby

On it, sat a colorful butterfly

It was early in the day

It was spring in late May

I climbed the biggest rock I could find

There was a view that would never leave my mind

On the right, the ravine was steep

In front, was the ridge, that in my mind I would keep

On the left, lay the valley, green and deep

Down the ravine I looked, and smiled with delight

I could be a great eagle in flight

Long I looked, and I was awed by the sight.

The ridge ran mile after mile

It reminded me of the lengthy Nile

Slender and long it stretched with style

The valley was watery and green

A gushing stream ran in between

Such beauty I had never seen

Slowly I sat down and lowered my head

Long ago myself I should have fed

It was noon and the sun was high

Blue as the sea was the clear sky

On a dry piece of bread I chewed

I looked down and I was amused

There, a colony of ants I viewed

They were all for some reason queued.

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Rested and strong I got up on my feet,

Packed my clothes nice and neat

There was the flower exposed to the heat

The butterfly, had left its majestic seat

The sky turned dark and gray

On the mountain side the heavy clouds lay

Beside a rock I had to huddle

Under my feet was already a puddle...

The cold I could no longer bear

In my ears the wind I could hear

The lightning, it was so very near

I wrapped my clothes and my body shivered

Around me the fresh grass had withered

From the wind I tried to hide

It came to me from every side

In my place I did abide

The lightning was strong and bright

I was scared by the flashing light

It turned darkness into daylight

The elements of nature kept me in fear

But with patience the storm I did bear

The sky cleared slowly

The ridge I could see barely

Against the rock I huddled and prayed

Many times my chances of survival I weighed

For a long time there I laid

Finally, the rock goodbye I bade.

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I got up feeling cold and weary

Of the mountain I was afraid and leery

There was the flower, rooted, but looking dreary

The butterfly had flown to a greener prairie

The sky was crawling with the night

The storm had let up, and gave up the fight

I edged my way down the trail

My legs felt cold and frail

My body was wet and weak

The ground with water did leak

The night on the day was about to peak

The storm made me feel small and humbled

Slowly down the path I stumbled

To balance myself, for rocks my hands fumbled

The ground was wet and felt like clay

Many times as I stepped, it gave way

But I trudged on without delay

The night slowly planted its seed

On the day it started to feed

I could see it grow with speed

I reached the bottom of the trail

Feeling small, weak, and frail

But the mountain power I had tamed

And some sort of confidence I had gained

Like the flower, rooted I wanted to be

But stronger, maybe like a tree

How clearly I could see

Like the butterfly, roaming I would be