Mountains

When Spring came I went to the mountains and it was strange because they had left me and wouldn't say a thing despite my patience and good manners. I rode for eight days and they said nothing, pissed on dry orange dirt roadside turnoffs and they said nothing their sticky black gravel their heat their rain their morning and evening chill, all of this, nothing, I came and left and for eight days there wasn't even silence or a chill of transgression, they had fallen sick and asleep. Before I myself die, I must awake them.