Ice crashing then melting

dripping then freezing

creating the cricks and cracks

jagged and smooth

of the rocks

upon which I stand.

Moss and ferns

grasses and dandelions

popping up

here and there

fighting for the water

that is hiding deep beneath the rocks.

The smoke billows in from the burning trees afar

creating a haze that surrounds the crooked haunted house

that is no longer crooked

and possibly haunt-free.

As they straightened the walls,

the ghosts had no more crooks or crannies to hide.

* Some thoughts as I sat listening, observing and reflecting on top of Pilot’s Monument in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Canada.*