Sitting on the roof of the valley
it disappears to the south in summer haze
to the east, in morning sun, rises Lassen
streaked with snow
to the north sits Shasta, a lone cloud playing with the peak
to the west the Trinities, jagged gray edges, white flecks of snow
On top of Shasta Bally, the quiet dominates all
looking down at the vast expanse of where we live and move
it spreads out, beyond the limits of vision
we think nothing of it as we drive across it every day
miles rolling by
we think everything of it as we drive up the road to Shasta Bally
each mile an accomplishment, a small victory in the dust of summer
to rest at the summit, and in seeing, understand
