In quiet calm, the peace
of bones tired from steep-hilled heat,
no need to speak
with those who can sit still and see
silver-green light inside a grove
of Engelmann spruce, a sparkle
trickling out an inch of metal pipe
at height of summer, deep-earth gift
cold and clear, where a rare bird
came to drink, feathers mottled red,
fat black bill with long tips crossed
like a lobster’s pincer
like nothing before, or since
(gone now, my dear friend)
& for once then I wasn’t focused inward
on the past, or thinking far ahead;
there was a silence like the seconds
following exquisite music,
as though the world held its breath
to begin again as we walked
across the face and up a shoulder
to the peak; on the way back,
in near-dark, we passed the boulder shape
of a moose with velvet rack, laid down
in purple lupine, pink painted cups
and white geranium, each coneflower
topped by sleeping bumblebee;
he didn’t stir
as we left his mountain.
Rachel White’s collection, “The Velvet Earth After Rain,” was selected as a “Notable Read” by the Utah Humanities Book Awards.
This story appears in the April 2026 issue of Deseret Magazine. Learn more about how to subscribe.