The Lookback

Once I climbed Mt Moosalamoo. Past Rattlesnake Point, past the ridge top there is a rocky overlook East, looking out over Bread Loaf. Half way up from Lana Falls I did meet a toad. He was cute but it was not a religious experience.   


The Lookback

I met him on the Mountain,
  halfway up the Lookback road,
My colossal boot nearly waffle-stomped him,
  he was camouflaged, he was a toad 

"My Lord, I nearly stepped on you!"
"Good of you to recognize me, for I am he"

Alarming enough a talking toad,
  let alone one who says, he said…
I thought back to breakfast,
  when, yes, I’d taken my meds

"You could give me a hand,
After all these millennia, I being hallowed,
  in my shallow toad pond,
Have decided to climb the Lookback,
  to see how my Creation’s come to be…"
Then I bid him hop in my palm,
  and up the hill we carried on

He asked, "Take me to the end of the World,
  I could only lead him up Mans’ current path,
Up to washout bridges mended,
  up to open spots where angel feather clouds whirled like kettle Hawks,
Through the thick ridgeline wood, where
  blackened oak and moss smelled of lightening fire,
To that final place where our journey ended,
   the Lookback,

Where he said "Heavenly,"

Then;
"I see plastic bottles in the Seas,
  I see grocery bags caught up in trees,
The scent of smoke is in the air,
  must be my forest’s on fire, somewhere,"

The view from there was everywhere,
  Green Mountains gray-scaled in the haze,
The ways of Men were as maps seen edgewise,
  seemed we stood up there for days without a sunset,
On the Overlook, when at last he said;

"Listen to me,
Know that you are of the Earth,
  and never more than it are you worth,
Know that it’s the World gives life,
  and to own her breeds more War and Strife,
Power is given not that you deserve,
  but invested for those you care, that you may serve,
Health is not granted that you may hoard your wealth,
  but to give, that you may ease illness, health is the only wealth,
Do not sow ire, loves’ paths have weeds enough,
Cultivate compassionate fruits, feed as you would be fed,
  for there is too much of wreck and dredge and slough,
You are not permanent, work well
  to leave good memories,
    when you are gone,"

Instead of Amen he said, "I’m done"

We camped the night in silence,
  next morning he still sat on the ledge,
Watching over Mans’ sand castles and anthills,
  which is where I left him, 
Our Lord, Our Toad,
  with his poem wrote, and
    His creation, Man, to goad