Spirit Lake

For many years we languished, 
our waters thin and cold

as high above us on the slopes 
the conifers thrived, using up
all the richness the soil would provide

just so they could thrust their boughs

into the apathetic sky. They left no sustenance 
behind for us. 

Beneath our mirrored sheen we hid 
an underwater forest filled 
with ghostly branches, petrified
limbs that pierced the silent depths.

Then the mountain erupted, its peak pulverized

and hurled into the air 
in great plumes of dust.

Lava gurgled, mud flowed 
and our waters warmed and clouded 
with nutrient-rich sediment

tossed from the raging Saint.

Thousands of felled trees slid towards us
in the mudslide, to end up floating 
on our surface, taunting their 
submerged ancestors

with their mercurial drifting.

Life flourished; initially microbial, 
which fed millions of insects

which amphibians grew plump feasting upon.

Everything bred 
and our aquatic factories teemed

as we commandeered the resources 
once monopolized by the evergreen behemoths. 

Enormous trout emerged from somewhere 
to rule the shallows.  
Life thrived.

In time, things tapered off, as
back on the slopes, survivors pushed
their heads up through the ash.

Seed scattered. Creatures poked their noses
from deep burrows. Deer trod 

the ruined soil, churning it
into something rich and dark, mixing it with their shit. 

The trees began to grow back, to reclaim 
their territory. Their greedy roots once again
sucked all the sustenance from the earth.

Now, as we watch the trout 
shrink in size, we brace ourselves
for the inevitable descent back 
into lifeless, lonely silence. 

We will miss the clamor, the constant flurry, 
but there's  nothing we can do 

but wait and pray to the Saint 
to deliver to us another
nourishing disaster.