A couple of weekends ago I visited the mountains of southwestern Virginia to attend a memorial service for my great-aunt, who passed away November 2021 at the age of ninety-three.  She was a feisty, fun-loving lady, and the memorial service was a moving celebration of her life.  We also ate KFC and barbecue, which is the kind of send-off I want.

So the mountains were on my mind last week when Son of Sonnet reached out to me, asking me what theme I’d like a poem about.  Naturally, I asked him to write about the mountains, specifically the sweet smell of clover that serves as a sensory touchstone for my youngest memories.  To this day, whenever I smell clover, it takes me to my Mamaw’s house in Flat Gap, Virginia (outside of Pound, Virginia, in Wise County).  That scent is synonymous with her and her home.

I did not tell Son of Sonnet about that sensory relationship before he wrote the poem.  That makes the eighth and ninth lines all the more poignant and serendipitous.

So I am very pleased to present a very special poem from SoS, “The Mountain”:

The Mountain
By Son of Sonnet

After climbing up to the mountain’s peak,
I beheld the empty night horizon.
Though perseverance made the dangerous climb,
It was nothing in the face of emptiness.

As I stood alone, silence was my friend,
And gave me time to breathe the mountain air.
It seemed, although I could not see or hear,
A sweet scent of clover had graced the air.

Nostalgia pulled my gaze to where I came,
And every thing that made the world was there.
It glowed as light within the hand of God,
And I, atop the finger, thought it good.