Between here and there
is the nowhere we're usually
On my way to the mountain top
breakfast at Twede's in North Bend,
the diner where David Lynch filmed
Twin Peaks.
A diner is not even one peak.
More like a vale.
But that's where we hang out
before and after.
A little further up the trail
I hear a low-frequency grouse bong
under ripe huckleberries.
"Ascending" now I hear
a high-frequency marmot whistle
from a glaciated rock pile.
Gone, gone, gone beyond the air
where trees can grow:
Gaté Gaté Para Gaté.
Chugging for breath I touch the sun
at the dazzling summit.
But who am I kidding?
There are thousands of mountains
I'm still not there, and not quite
here either.
My knees hurt, but I'm moving
from valley to valley.
The peaks are in between.
Meanwhile, right where I Am,
the donuts are fresh and warm.