Above Sea Level

Late fall and a few tourists trickle in to ride the chair lift to see the alpine larch, golden against the first wisps of snow. Some even hike down to the lodge but most return they way they came to the new Irish style pub and sip a whisky mix which really isn’t sour and inhale the smoke of imported peat. Time’s passage feels like molasses yet the glaciers are melting. Soon enough our grandkids will rise to mountain parakeets rather than chickadees but at least they’ll be above sea level.