The Path
By: Eric Hagen

I was caught in the storm
on the mountain. The bears had taken to the safety of
the trees below as I stood perched on the edge of my cliff,
wind-beaten and water-logged.
Beyond the road, I had followed the river
trails to find the peak.
 
To find God among the hanging rain
caught in updraft, if only to ask
questions I didn't know for answers I didn't want.
 
Howling gales among the long-dead spruce and fir suspended
across the rock face in spiral groves, branches broken then
thrown down like gravity
to the soft lives of greener forest floors,
strip malls, pancake houses, and I
cannot see three feet in front of me, cannot see the views obstructed
by swirling clouds twisting wildly down the edges.