Sky and lake the same blue,
and blue the languid mountain between them.
Cloud fluffs make the scene flow.
Greeny white pools of aspen snake up,
graven with welts and calluses where branches
dried and broke. Other scabs are lover-made:
Initials dug within linked hearts and, higher
some jackknifed peace signs.
A breeze, and the filtered light makes shine
a million bristling quills of spruce and fir
downslope, where slashes of sky and lake
hang blue—windows of intense stain. We take
the rim trail, crushing bloom of sage,
sniffing resinous wind, our boots in the wild,
small, everycolored Rocky Mountain flowers.
Suddenly, a steep drop-off: below we see the whole,
the whale of it—deep, enormous blue—
that widens, while the sky slants back to pale
behind a watercolored mountain.
Western Tanager – we call him “Fireface: -
darts ahead, we climb to our camp
as the sun slips lower. Clipped to the top
of the tallest fir, Olive-sided Flycatcher,
over and over, fierce-whistles, “Whip!
Whip three bears! Whip, whip three bears!”
This poem is presented at the Bear Lake Overlook tourist information center. This is my view of the lake from the overlook early in the morning.
For a view of some of the flowers that morning look here. This poetry really paints a picture in my mind. I am not as familiar with birds, and didn't hear any bird song the morning we were there.