mountain time
Carolyn Caines
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Each year the green has grown
to cover bare hillsides a bit more, the new shoots and cones a pale green against the sky. The noble spines stand straight with prickly arms raised forming a herringbone-patterned ridge in the afternoon light. Looking closer, we see a few solitary rusty, orange pinions with dying arms stretched weakly among the green, testaments of long-ago dragon breath. St. Helens sits on her misty throne overseeing hummocks standing ‘round patiently awaiting another slide or blow or blast from their silent queen. At Johnston Ridge the tourists gather to buy a t-shirt or cap. They speak Italian, Japanese, or an unfamiliar tongue, schooling their children in volcano. We take one more photo because green has grown since last year. Our pink wristbands still hang in place. We’ll wear them all the way home. |
Molly Starr | Hermes - Regal AF | Oil on Canvas
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