Crossing the Divide
Morning a few miles east of the Continental divide in Colorado, clouds brushed against
rugged mountain peaks; the Autumnal Equinox hours away. Roland Palomino, seventy, and Lena, fifty-five, his wife of thirty-five years, made their way across a broad valley below the grandeur of the rarified peaks.
Each year, they returned to celebrate their lofty world on the Divide, overlooking the valley
below, and the divide of Summer and Winter. The aroma of blue spruce and evergreen pine all around, and the alder and birch in a riot of color.
“What a lovely day Roland. We could not be more fortunate. The sun is with us.”
“We haven’t always been so lucky,” Roland said, pausing to survey the terrain and adjust his back-pack, only slightly larger than Lena’s. “Remember last year, we got a good dusting before
reaching our little place on the mountain.”
“Oh, my yes, Roland, I remember, but not surprised” They sat briefly in silence.
“Let’s go Lena; we still have a way to go before we start up our trail.” They rose and
continued, the crisp air awakening all their senses, all their memories.
Lena was twenty when they met. Of Swedish ancestry, and in her youth, possessed of keen
intelligence, and with plain looks, many of the young men kept at a distance. Disappointed with the young men she met, finding them insincere, wanting her mainly for their own pleasure. She longed for respect and security. Roland was then thirty-six, and in years previous, a brief, former marriage ended with no children. Within six months of meeting, they married. Roland worked as a skilled carpenter, and raised a few horses. With some help from a friend, he built the house that they lived in.
A Mescalero - Zuni, Roland held varieties of spiritual beliefs, including transmigration of
souls between human and non-human life forms. His respect extended to all animals. Even those that he occasionally trapped or shot for food he thanked and blessed them for their sacrifice, becoming one with him.
“Here’s the trail we need Lena.” In silence they ascended, observing the familiar, distant
landmarks. Massive pine and spruce covered the entire landscape, unbroken on every ridge as far as the eye could see.
For Lena, Roland’s strength of character, and his sense of honor made her proud. His humility
and respect for the natural world comforted her. The explorations and confidences they shared gave her a fulfillment that she could not imagine finding elsewhere.
“Oh Roland, the aroma is intoxicating;” and with the excitement of a young girl, gripping his
arm said, “look, a red-tailed hawk riding on a thermal. They paused to rest under an evergreen and watch the raptor glide in an arc.
“He glides on the wind like a master painter stroking his canvas,” said Roland, “he must have
been reborn from the soul of an artist” he added in a jocular tone. Not only did Roland view the natural world from a supernatural perspective, he was apt to explain it, in colorful, everyday terms. Blessed with vitality, and able to keep working until very recently, alongside of men,
half his age. The sun, past zenith, and they paused at the fringe of sunny area.
Roland slowly rubbed his belly.
“Are you feeling poorly dear?”
“Just a mite, I’ll be fine.”
The valley, a patchwork of ragged greens and browns bisected by the sparkle of the timeless
river. High above, a cloudless sky measured them, the blue-white light lost into infinity.
“Let’s take a breather here for a moment or two, Lena, “ and he sat the verdant earth, his
back against a tree, where Lena joined him.
A large, raucous raven descended onto a small, broken tree, less than thirty feet from them.
Cocking his head, the bird fastened onto something in the crook, and in a quick motion,
retrieved what appeared to be a nut. One eye surveyed the hikers. With one powerful motion, the crafty corvid securely replaced the item, adding several more, hard taps. The sleek bird squatted, then loosened a stream of scolding caws, directed at the couple, and hunkering low, ruffled its feathers, looked up to the sky, and launched into the air, winging into the forest.
“He must’ve been a noisy medicine man, Lena, nodding with a smile. “Ready Lena, for
the last leg? In an hour, we’ll find our place and relax.” He stood, holding out his hand to Lena, and they continued.
The past year, Roland had experienced pain in his stomach, and his appetite diminished. X-
ray revealed a small tumor. Chemotherapy managed to reduce the nodule and he felt better again, and stopped taking some of the potent medications. When pain had returned, Lena, begged him to return to the clinic, a sixty-mile drive, but he refused. Instead, he changed his diet, eating grains, fruits, and vegetables exclusively. For a while, it appeared that the regimen might work. He said, that he felt better; but lately, Lena worried. His meals were smaller and he seemed indifferent to food, distressing her. The last few days however, Roland was upbeat, and looked forward to their yearly trek, and to be in their usual place, close to the divide of the continent, and now the divide of the seasons, and the equal parts of night and day.
They arrived at a sheltered spot beneath a great ponderosa pine, and removed their packs.
The ground, covered in fragrant pine needles. A half-mile to the West, rugged bluffs, towered
above. Below, a sweeping view of the valley, details a river that cuts and contoured through the nourished expanse. On a far ridge, the summits, silhouetted against the sun, like blades of grass against the fading light. From their vantage point, the swath of the valley visible beneath a distant range, changed into deep mauve, before vanishing from sight.
They prepared a fire from dead branches and kindling, the Roland collected, into a small fire for tea and homemade soup. They ate tortillas and oranges, apples and cheese, their fare for the night. Breakfast will be a baggie of oatmeal, and a small jar of honey.
From a distance in the trees, sounds of a woodpecker hammering a tree.
“Listen to the drummer-boy Lena; good to know they’re still here; I have not seen or heard
one in a long while,” and they listen to the lively syncopations. High on a branch, a warbler’s voice rose into the clear air.
“If I ever return,” said Roland, “I’d want to be a musician, a drummer or singer, or both, and
make people happy and dance.”
This brought a smile to Lena. It was the first she had heard of his secret dream.
“Remember Roland, when we saw a big cougar, three years back, up there on that outcrop?”
“Like it was yesterday, and if she hadn’t moved in the bright sun, you wouldn’t know that she was there.” In silence they sipped soup, continuing to remember.
Dinner finished, Lena washed the utensils in tiny rivulet a few yards distant, refilling the wineskin with pure, cold water, to pour it into a pot for tea. Cool air began to descend.
They pulled on their sweater. Light almost gone; a solitary bird cried against a darkening sky.
“I wonder if the kids will ever bring our grand kids here,” Roland said. Lena took his hand. “They will Roland when they’re a little older. Just as we waited until ours were ten. Until
then, the kids are hardly able to make the trip out here.”
“I know they will in time, but I’d like us all to be together, at least once, before I’m not here
anymore.”
“Oh Roland, you will always be here,” and she placed her hand over her heart. “As long as
these mountains are, and seasons change, your soul will be here.”
“You’ve made me the happiest man in the world Lena.”
“I can’t imagine sharing my life with anybody else Roland.”
He placed wood on the fire, the flames highlighting his silver hair, as he knelt to warm his
hands. On his wrist, a blue-green piece of turquoise on a burnished, silver band sparkled in the
firelight. “Not many years ago, this hand could crack a two-by-four,” he said as to himself.
“Lena, next year, promise me that, If I’m unable, you will return here with the kids.”
“You have my promise. Now come over here Daddy. Let’s snuggle.”
He went to Lena, and in their hooked sleeping bags, they gazed skyward straight into the
wheel of the Milky Way. During the night, Roland felt the numbing ache in his gut. He tried to lie quiet, but was restless. “You’re in pain love,” Lena whispered into his ear.
“It’s not that bad. I don’t know why I am so restless. Go back to sleep, I’ll feel better in the
morning.” Lena stroked his head, and before long, she dozed off.
Stars began to wink out as dawn neared. Quietly, Roland slipped from the comforter. Lena
stirred, eyes fluttering, but she did not wake. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I Love you,” he intoned, and quietly walked into the pre-dawn darkness of the trees.
Soon Lena sensed Roland’s return, a gentle nudge to the sleeping bags, his voice, a peculiar
timbre, as if shivering, teeth chattering. The area now in the faint light of dawn. She turned. “Roland!” she screamed, looking into honey-colored eyes of a large cougar standing over her, Roland’s parka between his teeth; and with Lena’s scream, a powerful roar broke over the campsite. The cougar turned, dropped the garment, and snarled. Fifty feet away, a grizzly bear rose up, and again, his mighty voice reverberated over the site. The shaggy ursine dropped, delicate as a ballet dancer, and ambled quickly toward Lena, his great jaw working, low grunts erupting from his thick neck. The cougar bounded away in great, fifteen-foot leaps.
Petrified with fear, Lena shook, gripping the edge of the sleeping bag, holding it under her
chin. The imposing creature halted within twenty feet of Lena, staring at her, his fierce eyes searching, black snout raised, testing the air before he softly grunted, turned and lumbered leisurely toward the trees; at the tree line, he turned to face Lena, rising to his full height, and a long, low, singsong growl bubbled from his throat. Then he vanished into the forest.
Lena concentrated on two locations: the direction of the cougar, and the spot the bear
vanished. After a while, still trembling, feeling sick, Lena called softly for Roland. Wanting to cry, but realized the immediate danger passed. After a prayer, she needed to locate Roland. Lena slowly, entered the woods where sufficient light, now allowed her to walk along a tiny path they once had walked. After going another two hundred yards further into the forest, unable to see, or hear a sign of Roland, Lena drew on her courage. In anguish, cried out his name, and thought of the bear, but that image only deepened her resolve to find him. A wind coursed high in the trees, rising and falling, like a voice singing Leeeena! Leeeena!
Something ahead on the path glinted; she approached and picked up a silver and turquoise
bracelet, and her heart raced, now determined to see this through and find her husband of thirty-five years, who must be sick or injured. She again shouted his name. Silent prevailed. Lena searched both sides of the trail, but finding nothing more, and in despair, returned to the camp.
She placed the silver bracelet on the open blanket, then set a few branches on the fire’s last
embers. With her tiny tea-pot she went to the small brook for water. Standing over the gurgling brook’s waters, splashing among the rocks, Lena, heard faint bits and pieces of familiar tunes from years gone by. She guessed, that its source were the headwaters in the vicinity. A thought flashed before her, of how different the Spring runoff would look. The entire mountain, a conduit of roaring energy; the valley below, receiving millions of acre feet of life-giving water, the ponds, rivers and lakes brimming with the songs of life. Lena returned, and in an absent daze, and heated water. As she sipped tea, the raven lighted on a heavy branch near her. Like a trickster, he eyed her. “Caw! Caw! Caw!” he cried, then swooped down to again, land on the log, cocking his head as if he had a profound thought, and stared into Lena. “Caw! Caw! Caw!” He pecked at the log, then leapt down, and strutted to the edge of the campsite with something white in his beak. he looked closely at the silver and turquoise bracelet, and dropped the object next to the bracelet. “Caw! Caw! Caw!” he insisted; and with wings spread, rose and, circled once, landing on a branch. “Caw! Caw!
Lena felt a tingling through her body, reached across the blanket, and picked up a pearly white button, in one hand, and the bracelet in the other, and kneeling on the blanket pressed the objects to her breast and quietly moaned.
Notes of a warbler nearby, soon pierced her consciousness, the trills filling the spaces of her
grieving heart. She realized the thrum of a woodpecker’s rhythmic beat; and the raven inserted notes akin to a cello. For some time, she joined the ensemble, vocalizing Roland’s name over and over in hypnotic chant.
Sweeping over the site, and the flicker of flame, the sparks rose heavenward, as the soul of
Roland Palomino, now glorified.
rugged mountain peaks; the Autumnal Equinox hours away. Roland Palomino, seventy, and Lena, fifty-five, his wife of thirty-five years, made their way across a broad valley below the grandeur of the rarified peaks.
Each year, they returned to celebrate their lofty world on the Divide, overlooking the valley
below, and the divide of Summer and Winter. The aroma of blue spruce and evergreen pine all around, and the alder and birch in a riot of color.
“What a lovely day Roland. We could not be more fortunate. The sun is with us.”
“We haven’t always been so lucky,” Roland said, pausing to survey the terrain and adjust his back-pack, only slightly larger than Lena’s. “Remember last year, we got a good dusting before
reaching our little place on the mountain.”
“Oh, my yes, Roland, I remember, but not surprised” They sat briefly in silence.
“Let’s go Lena; we still have a way to go before we start up our trail.” They rose and
continued, the crisp air awakening all their senses, all their memories.
Lena was twenty when they met. Of Swedish ancestry, and in her youth, possessed of keen
intelligence, and with plain looks, many of the young men kept at a distance. Disappointed with the young men she met, finding them insincere, wanting her mainly for their own pleasure. She longed for respect and security. Roland was then thirty-six, and in years previous, a brief, former marriage ended with no children. Within six months of meeting, they married. Roland worked as a skilled carpenter, and raised a few horses. With some help from a friend, he built the house that they lived in.
A Mescalero - Zuni, Roland held varieties of spiritual beliefs, including transmigration of
souls between human and non-human life forms. His respect extended to all animals. Even those that he occasionally trapped or shot for food he thanked and blessed them for their sacrifice, becoming one with him.
“Here’s the trail we need Lena.” In silence they ascended, observing the familiar, distant
landmarks. Massive pine and spruce covered the entire landscape, unbroken on every ridge as far as the eye could see.
For Lena, Roland’s strength of character, and his sense of honor made her proud. His humility
and respect for the natural world comforted her. The explorations and confidences they shared gave her a fulfillment that she could not imagine finding elsewhere.
“Oh Roland, the aroma is intoxicating;” and with the excitement of a young girl, gripping his
arm said, “look, a red-tailed hawk riding on a thermal. They paused to rest under an evergreen and watch the raptor glide in an arc.
“He glides on the wind like a master painter stroking his canvas,” said Roland, “he must have
been reborn from the soul of an artist” he added in a jocular tone. Not only did Roland view the natural world from a supernatural perspective, he was apt to explain it, in colorful, everyday terms. Blessed with vitality, and able to keep working until very recently, alongside of men,
half his age. The sun, past zenith, and they paused at the fringe of sunny area.
Roland slowly rubbed his belly.
“Are you feeling poorly dear?”
“Just a mite, I’ll be fine.”
The valley, a patchwork of ragged greens and browns bisected by the sparkle of the timeless
river. High above, a cloudless sky measured them, the blue-white light lost into infinity.
“Let’s take a breather here for a moment or two, Lena, “ and he sat the verdant earth, his
back against a tree, where Lena joined him.
A large, raucous raven descended onto a small, broken tree, less than thirty feet from them.
Cocking his head, the bird fastened onto something in the crook, and in a quick motion,
retrieved what appeared to be a nut. One eye surveyed the hikers. With one powerful motion, the crafty corvid securely replaced the item, adding several more, hard taps. The sleek bird squatted, then loosened a stream of scolding caws, directed at the couple, and hunkering low, ruffled its feathers, looked up to the sky, and launched into the air, winging into the forest.
“He must’ve been a noisy medicine man, Lena, nodding with a smile. “Ready Lena, for
the last leg? In an hour, we’ll find our place and relax.” He stood, holding out his hand to Lena, and they continued.
The past year, Roland had experienced pain in his stomach, and his appetite diminished. X-
ray revealed a small tumor. Chemotherapy managed to reduce the nodule and he felt better again, and stopped taking some of the potent medications. When pain had returned, Lena, begged him to return to the clinic, a sixty-mile drive, but he refused. Instead, he changed his diet, eating grains, fruits, and vegetables exclusively. For a while, it appeared that the regimen might work. He said, that he felt better; but lately, Lena worried. His meals were smaller and he seemed indifferent to food, distressing her. The last few days however, Roland was upbeat, and looked forward to their yearly trek, and to be in their usual place, close to the divide of the continent, and now the divide of the seasons, and the equal parts of night and day.
They arrived at a sheltered spot beneath a great ponderosa pine, and removed their packs.
The ground, covered in fragrant pine needles. A half-mile to the West, rugged bluffs, towered
above. Below, a sweeping view of the valley, details a river that cuts and contoured through the nourished expanse. On a far ridge, the summits, silhouetted against the sun, like blades of grass against the fading light. From their vantage point, the swath of the valley visible beneath a distant range, changed into deep mauve, before vanishing from sight.
They prepared a fire from dead branches and kindling, the Roland collected, into a small fire for tea and homemade soup. They ate tortillas and oranges, apples and cheese, their fare for the night. Breakfast will be a baggie of oatmeal, and a small jar of honey.
From a distance in the trees, sounds of a woodpecker hammering a tree.
“Listen to the drummer-boy Lena; good to know they’re still here; I have not seen or heard
one in a long while,” and they listen to the lively syncopations. High on a branch, a warbler’s voice rose into the clear air.
“If I ever return,” said Roland, “I’d want to be a musician, a drummer or singer, or both, and
make people happy and dance.”
This brought a smile to Lena. It was the first she had heard of his secret dream.
“Remember Roland, when we saw a big cougar, three years back, up there on that outcrop?”
“Like it was yesterday, and if she hadn’t moved in the bright sun, you wouldn’t know that she was there.” In silence they sipped soup, continuing to remember.
Dinner finished, Lena washed the utensils in tiny rivulet a few yards distant, refilling the wineskin with pure, cold water, to pour it into a pot for tea. Cool air began to descend.
They pulled on their sweater. Light almost gone; a solitary bird cried against a darkening sky.
“I wonder if the kids will ever bring our grand kids here,” Roland said. Lena took his hand. “They will Roland when they’re a little older. Just as we waited until ours were ten. Until
then, the kids are hardly able to make the trip out here.”
“I know they will in time, but I’d like us all to be together, at least once, before I’m not here
anymore.”
“Oh Roland, you will always be here,” and she placed her hand over her heart. “As long as
these mountains are, and seasons change, your soul will be here.”
“You’ve made me the happiest man in the world Lena.”
“I can’t imagine sharing my life with anybody else Roland.”
He placed wood on the fire, the flames highlighting his silver hair, as he knelt to warm his
hands. On his wrist, a blue-green piece of turquoise on a burnished, silver band sparkled in the
firelight. “Not many years ago, this hand could crack a two-by-four,” he said as to himself.
“Lena, next year, promise me that, If I’m unable, you will return here with the kids.”
“You have my promise. Now come over here Daddy. Let’s snuggle.”
He went to Lena, and in their hooked sleeping bags, they gazed skyward straight into the
wheel of the Milky Way. During the night, Roland felt the numbing ache in his gut. He tried to lie quiet, but was restless. “You’re in pain love,” Lena whispered into his ear.
“It’s not that bad. I don’t know why I am so restless. Go back to sleep, I’ll feel better in the
morning.” Lena stroked his head, and before long, she dozed off.
Stars began to wink out as dawn neared. Quietly, Roland slipped from the comforter. Lena
stirred, eyes fluttering, but she did not wake. He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “I Love you,” he intoned, and quietly walked into the pre-dawn darkness of the trees.
Soon Lena sensed Roland’s return, a gentle nudge to the sleeping bags, his voice, a peculiar
timbre, as if shivering, teeth chattering. The area now in the faint light of dawn. She turned. “Roland!” she screamed, looking into honey-colored eyes of a large cougar standing over her, Roland’s parka between his teeth; and with Lena’s scream, a powerful roar broke over the campsite. The cougar turned, dropped the garment, and snarled. Fifty feet away, a grizzly bear rose up, and again, his mighty voice reverberated over the site. The shaggy ursine dropped, delicate as a ballet dancer, and ambled quickly toward Lena, his great jaw working, low grunts erupting from his thick neck. The cougar bounded away in great, fifteen-foot leaps.
Petrified with fear, Lena shook, gripping the edge of the sleeping bag, holding it under her
chin. The imposing creature halted within twenty feet of Lena, staring at her, his fierce eyes searching, black snout raised, testing the air before he softly grunted, turned and lumbered leisurely toward the trees; at the tree line, he turned to face Lena, rising to his full height, and a long, low, singsong growl bubbled from his throat. Then he vanished into the forest.
Lena concentrated on two locations: the direction of the cougar, and the spot the bear
vanished. After a while, still trembling, feeling sick, Lena called softly for Roland. Wanting to cry, but realized the immediate danger passed. After a prayer, she needed to locate Roland. Lena slowly, entered the woods where sufficient light, now allowed her to walk along a tiny path they once had walked. After going another two hundred yards further into the forest, unable to see, or hear a sign of Roland, Lena drew on her courage. In anguish, cried out his name, and thought of the bear, but that image only deepened her resolve to find him. A wind coursed high in the trees, rising and falling, like a voice singing Leeeena! Leeeena!
Something ahead on the path glinted; she approached and picked up a silver and turquoise
bracelet, and her heart raced, now determined to see this through and find her husband of thirty-five years, who must be sick or injured. She again shouted his name. Silent prevailed. Lena searched both sides of the trail, but finding nothing more, and in despair, returned to the camp.
She placed the silver bracelet on the open blanket, then set a few branches on the fire’s last
embers. With her tiny tea-pot she went to the small brook for water. Standing over the gurgling brook’s waters, splashing among the rocks, Lena, heard faint bits and pieces of familiar tunes from years gone by. She guessed, that its source were the headwaters in the vicinity. A thought flashed before her, of how different the Spring runoff would look. The entire mountain, a conduit of roaring energy; the valley below, receiving millions of acre feet of life-giving water, the ponds, rivers and lakes brimming with the songs of life. Lena returned, and in an absent daze, and heated water. As she sipped tea, the raven lighted on a heavy branch near her. Like a trickster, he eyed her. “Caw! Caw! Caw!” he cried, then swooped down to again, land on the log, cocking his head as if he had a profound thought, and stared into Lena. “Caw! Caw! Caw!” He pecked at the log, then leapt down, and strutted to the edge of the campsite with something white in his beak. he looked closely at the silver and turquoise bracelet, and dropped the object next to the bracelet. “Caw! Caw! Caw!” he insisted; and with wings spread, rose and, circled once, landing on a branch. “Caw! Caw!
Lena felt a tingling through her body, reached across the blanket, and picked up a pearly white button, in one hand, and the bracelet in the other, and kneeling on the blanket pressed the objects to her breast and quietly moaned.
Notes of a warbler nearby, soon pierced her consciousness, the trills filling the spaces of her
grieving heart. She realized the thrum of a woodpecker’s rhythmic beat; and the raven inserted notes akin to a cello. For some time, she joined the ensemble, vocalizing Roland’s name over and over in hypnotic chant.
Sweeping over the site, and the flicker of flame, the sparks rose heavenward, as the soul of
Roland Palomino, now glorified.
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Arthur Mitchell
Arthur has a completed novel – ‘A Grotto in the Sea.’ Poems set to music by various composers- Lyrics to third movement for voice -chamber symphony: Under a Winter Sky-music by Michael Moore; Lyrics Ten song, Natural World, concept album, ‘Garden of Eden,’ music by Martin Batista;
Poetry Ephemeral Elegies; Remembered Arts Journal; Nature Writing; Winterwolf Press; Lagan Online; Classical Poets Society; Corvus Review; Sun- Poetica, Literary; Fiction -Honeyguide Literary Magazine.
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