At dusk, the mountain silhouette looks like torn paper, black against the dying light.
Dark hills fade to navy then to pastel sky as evening deepens.
Last night, thunder rolled down the valley, echoing deeply.
This morning clouds rose from conifers, feeding rain that steadily fell.
A water cycle, turned before my eyes.
We climb steadily, weaving and rock-hopping as the river runs below.
Snow lingers above, despite this summer’s heat.
Shifting baselines, decadal photographs signal the retreat.
Decaying from the 1970s, 1980s, onwards and backwards to today,
An inverse march of progress as the years increase.
“If we have children”, you ask
“Will we still be able to do this?”
I say yes, pointing to the French kids
Running ahead of their parents.
Later, I wonder if the ice will still be here for us.
M.J. grew up in a rural farming community. A childhood full of wet mountain walks, dogs and sheep. M.J’s work explores connections, challenging us to think about how we live together and thrive as a community not just of people but one that avoids privileging human life and sees as part of, not apart from, the world we live in.