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Type 2 
by Alyssa Johnson

At treeline

I am small

I am one of many

In this storm I feel energy aplenty but still

It does not excite me

I shake like a struck dog

And whisper please stop

Hoping the mountains will hear me

But they won't

Because

What do I matter to their immortal slopes

That churn wind and grind fierce thunder through the sky

With eyes wide I watch the flashes

And count the seconds till the sky rips and snarls

Afraid to move

Like a chipmunk in its nest

And as the lightning moves over the horizon

Rumbles grow longer but less angry

My body calms but the weariness remains

I am a visitor here

 

I’ve never been so glad to see the Milky Way

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