The Hoodoos

 

Under Sulphur Mountain’s

sedimentary gaze,

the great Bow River

slithers like a serpent,

its milky green waters

spitting and striking

at the soft banks -

a venomous erosion

amid the cascades

foaming tumult.

The mighty Cree

etched totem poles

the size of these great

spruce and fir,

back-lit by the waning

Wolf Moon.

 

A turn in the eyrie path

reveals the ancient Hoodoos.

Mushroom slabs of rock

sculptured into soft grey stems

and white, resistant, caps.

Fresh for picking

in this dawn half-light,

before the great eagle wind

flies high into the azure skies,

its wings beating dust

into the shafts of light

that dance between

the Coyote teeth.

Day break hammers

upon the mountain’s

anvil heart.