Drawing Cairns on Cadillac Mountain

In the winter i dream of sitting on a mountain and sketching rocks and boulders 

In my mind’s eye i trace each crack and fissure —the way lines meander and darken

Without touch i feel the rough exterior, each indent, and every raised area

Without names i name the green shapes that grow on each rock 

Today i sit on a flat rock and draw cairns

Today i wrestle shapes to sit solidly, to rest their heft on another

Today i give out names, rub my hand across each rock

Today i open myself to the hardness of rock—the softness of shape

Today i listen to the wind that surrounds