Earth Dances

I just took a trip to the Central Coast of California, though I never saw the ocean, only wineries and mountains. For those unfamiliar with the Central Coast, it is quite beautiful, one of my first loves, which is why I wrote this poem about them, though it cannot do them much justice, they are far too wonderful. This poem is meant to be interactive - when you see the link embedded, try to open it in another tab and keep reading, so it plays in the background at just the right spot. I have no clue if this will work, but let's be ambitious!

I suppose brown hills would be an apt

way to describe the Coastal Range

of California, at least for those

unwilling to adapt

to concepts of beauty that differ

from their own (Can the beholder’s

eye be changed? Not if he is obstinate).

They are not hills, no,

and while mountains

is closer to the truth,

they truly are a range

of variations upon the theme

of a moving hill of gold,

fugal patterns of subtle and superb

inversion and transition,

performing for the sea and sky,

great lumps of earth heaving

in a dance of unbridled pomp,

needing no circumstance of height,

taking no airs from a lofty elevation,

with the gentle introduction

of the theme of oaks and moss

weaving their way into the grassland.

At first look or listen, precious little change.

Go and see again: the pallet

shows the depth of pale shades,

the range found in three degrees,

our language is too poor

to speak of such small riches.

Is it a waltz, my father asks,

so I count to three aloud,

and watch them lurch across

the valley floor.