Michael Hill

Sam's Knob

Ascending through mountain laurel, rhododendron and white birch. One set of tracks lead us up the mountain, but 40 minutes into my hike I break new track. Westward mountains topped with conifers and snow.

The sun now warm on my back. A rabbit has preceded us across the crusty snow. The dogs work hard to make their way; occasionally, they fall back to let me do the work.

Mostly blueberry shrubs and scraggly bramble. Coyote scat.

I stop at a trail junction, squat over my snowshoes, eat trail mix. The bald in front of me is snow-covered, with dried grasses barely moving in the light breeze. I remove an outer layer as the sun moves higher in the sky. I hear nothing.

these mountains
too old
to make noise