CONTINENTAL DIVIDE

I once stood toe-to-toe with the Columbia Icefield,

we were stuck beside it for days, hitching south.

It was like standing in an open sky refrigerator, 

we feared we might freeze to death at its foot.

I wore every bit of clothing I had in my backpack, 

and my upside-down sleeping bag as a shawl,

looking like the Michelin Man with strange headgear,
the toe of the bag, a lofty orange helmet.

In that odd get-up, I scared off all the prospective rides.

We were so grateful when the redneck PG&E worker

that picked us up in Oregon, came to our rescue. 

Lord knows why they ever stopped. Maybe
they felt sorry for me, but Bob, with long hair & beard,
was from the camp across the river from status quo.

Over the campfire, we sipped coffee, and were humbled, 

not realizing we too were redneck in our own way.

For a while, the divide between us was diminished.

The vast Columbia Icefield, older than Mankind
taking its first steps, moaned and groaned and seethed
like an old dog on its last legs, rising from the hearth.

We parted company again in Banff, they were like family,

we meant to keep in touch, never did send that postcard.

The idea of global warming hadn't yet been parsed,

nor had it begun its irrevocable spiral. The ice is melting.

Now, you need to take a bus to the glacier's edge.

Soon it will be gone, like all the rest. 

Another snapshot lost in time.

7/8 & 8/15/18

First draft isn't much: a Facebook post, but I couldn't let go of the image. I once stood at the toe of the Columbia Glacier by the roadside in Canada, and was stuck there for two days hitching (nearly froze to death), now you have to hike in several miles in order to see it. It moaned and groaned like a living thing.