Traveling Along the Columbia
Driving through the heart of the Cascade Mountain Range on highway 14,
Westward along the Columbia River from White Salmon, Washington...
the beauties of this region are overwhelming.
Every moment of the journey a treasure,
every new view unique.
Wraith-like wisps of fog, hovering like a butterfly
over still water.
Reflections dance in the mirrored surface of the quiet pond
that is set like a jewel among the mossy cliffs
and evergreens.
Jagged peaks line the passageway thru the Cascade mountain range,
and small fir covered islands in the river
are reflected perfectly in todays unusually glassy surface
of the mighty Columbia.
Small V-shaped valleys cut their narrow twisty pathways sharply down
to the river from the looming sentinal like peaks
of the southern Washington Cascades.
Sea foam green lichens clothe the bare limbs of wintertime maple,
and emerald green moss vibrates with life on
cliff side ledges and on tree trunks.
Beacon Rock rises straight up between river and road, an ancient volcanic core...
standing tall like a sentinel watching over travelers,
while down below the Rock's feet a train edges narrowly along the strip of land
between rock and river.
Occasional splashes of brilliant yellow-green lichens paint themselves on bare rock faces
like ancient petroglyphs full of forgotten messages.
Frequent thin waterfalls drop from great heights in the cliff faces to join forces with the
mighty river hundreds of feet below.
I travel the road upwards over the tip of Cape Horn, along the roadway cut and bridged
right into the curvy cliff face.
Looking east down the gorge, steel gray river and sky slice thru the browns and greens of the lowlands,
with a dusting of fresh snow on the very tops of the peaks above,
in both Oregon and Washington States.
West, a blanket of fog curves like a snake along the river's surface
and far above,
morning sunlight reaches thru clouds behind me and dances along ridgetops
stretching west towards Portland.
Small flocks of geese bank and swerve forming into their native V flight pattern,
giving me a momentary sense of the freedom of flight..
cutting through the winds of change
strength in numbers.
The hiway I follow drops now, back into the valley as it widens...
driving down through the blanket of fog, past a flock of shaggy misty sheep grazing at the very edge
of the city of Vancouver, Washington.
Little wisps and twists of fog dance along the remarkably calm surface of the
Mighty Columbia river,
appearing and vanishing like the multitude of thoughts wandering through
in my mind
Golden mist lay
gently on
snow covered fields.
Above them
a rosy gold
snow-crowned mountain
stands tall
in morning light,
illuminating my heart."
...Darlisa, january 2005
