Visitors Gazing at Yosemite

By Daniel Williams

They all raise their heads at oblique angles        

some stand still some turn 360 degrees

just as Miwok do in deference to cardinal

directions before entering any sacred space

this the shamanistic imperative of the wild

there is something baptismal about the river

any hike a walk through cloisters of wonder

any view an awakening of awe of spirit

On winter nights clear ice on pine boughs

glow with the silver light of stars

makes one feel the air is razor sharp

in summer smoke of thousands of acres

rises to heaven only to descend with ash

blends with young bracken to incense

the air with lupine sun-warned pine mat

and a green willow splash of damp stones

Nobody falls to their knees

but for those in love with fire circles-

the magical transformative power of

oak and cedar coals to life-giving warmth-

just being there is enough to

genuflect minds before the ineffable drive

to cleanse bodies in founts of fragrant laurel

The toxins of their lungs admit to therapies

of wormwood azalea bear clover and aster

reliquaries of granite full of the silver

bones of old oaks stripped of their bark

lie undisturbed in quiet vaults of dark copses

lessons of rainbows and falling water-  the

true nature of light and its gossamer colors

the power of its pathways and its goings

But some do pray while saying good-bye

reluctant giving Yosemite its final gaze

removing themselves from nature

standing at turnouts on the west end

where they pause to take a last glance at

the vivid world of their birthright then turn

again to sit in place their heads locked forward

returning to their familiar alien worlds