Within this space the Creator must have intended to bring man in humility to his knees. —Margaret E. Murie

Deplaning the gondola after the steep ascent
into the cloud-turbaned peaks, I am stepping high,

a bit intoxicated from the elevation, but mostly
from the grandeur of the many-breasted mountains,

rising, snow-covered, into the heavens, somber,
like wisdom, and blinding in their magnificence.

I reach for your hand as we edge closer
to the precipice to take in glacier-hewn caverns

and the Alpine Astor and Sulphur Paintbrush,
riotous in their blue and yellow and purple garb,

pushing up through the rocky and breathless soil.
Far off a herd of bighorn sheep graze on silver

sage brush and green aspen, and a golden eagle
circles high above her nest, descending finally

like the Holy Ghost onto the knife-edged ridges
of the ancient rock.

You can listen to a conversation about this poem on the Reformed Journal Podcast.

Photo by Toan Chu on Unsplash