Looking out the window
Of the little plane,
As we near our landing site
On the Ruth Glacier.
In the Alaska Range.
First, we flew over trees, rivers, and the lower Glacier.
Now, we’re flying through the Great Gorge
Between startlingly huge mountains
And above the river of ice.
The world is the color of snow, rock, and sky.
A few especially prominent peaks dominate.
Denali, the great one, is straight ahead but not close.
The Moose’s Tooth is to our right but nearby,
Imposing in scale but welcoming.
In the Alaska Range.
Suddenly, we break free of the Gorge
And enter the Ruth Amphitheater.
The venue of venues.
The Cessna turns left
Toward the Mountain House.
We haven’t even landed yet,
But the concert has already begun.
In the Alaska Range.
What do we do, I wonder?
I take a deep breath,
And realize that thankfully we’re not too late,
Because the music never ends.
The sky is clear
And the landing site on the snow vivid.
The closer we get to the ground,
The more massive and magnificent the peaks become.
In the Alaska Range.
The plane touches down and stops.
I open the door and step
Out onto the Ruth.
Warm in my parka
And astounded by what I see in every direction.
There are few people, no instruments,
No conductor,
And not much of an audience.
But I feel the full force of the music
And am compelled
To whisper to myself where all can hear, “Bravo.”
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