Another Saturday Morning Poem by Matthew Buchwald

Daybreak found Mabee in the jungle,
Cutting his way through the rainforest,
Making for the foothills of the high country.
He paused, listening for the telltale sound
Of a footfall or a machete cutting brush,
But he was completely, achingly alone.
Others may have come this way before
Yet the jungle had wiped out whatever
Traces they left behind: there was no trail.
As he climbed higher, the foliage grew sparse,
No longer presenting a barrier,
At length disappearing altogether,
Till he stood before the sheer palisade
Of a towering plateau. Soon he was high
Above the rainforest and atop a bluff,
Looking down into an alpine meadow
Colorful with bushes all aflower.
The mountain air was thin and dry
And his breath came more slowly, as
A gentle wind caressed the trees.
The sun was bright white at the zenith,
Untroubled by any hint of a cloud.
A herd of tawny deer galloped past
Followed by a flock of crying doves.
Mabee walked along the bed of a stream,
Watching as wild goats scaled the limbs
Of ancient baobab trees, in a grove nestled
Beneath a gray peak rising 1,000 feet above.
As he kneeled to take a drink of water,
He heard the melodious sound of singing
And when he looked up, he saw the eyes,
The two huge orbs of a giantess,
Each one big as a mountain lake and blue
Like sapphires, and he leaped into them,
And landed in his own backyard, where
He found himself staring up at the sky.