Map-Maker

The solstice brought a series of ambivalent grins to the mountain ranges;

the map-maker stared in disbelief.

The painters mixed new colors for their canvases,

the writers sought new terms for their imagery,

but the map-maker could not settle for an imperfect depiction.

The contours had to be redrawn - again.

Expedition and recalculation, easy words to describe the haul.

Caught between the crevices, it was easy to lose sight of the bigger picture,

but the map-maker persevered,

amazed by the constant flux of a seemingly stationary sight.

The seasons met their rotational terms with the same overlapping pride:

a will to begin versus a will to resist letting go.

But leaves grow stale and ice melts under the blaze.

Birds sing on outward and inward journey alike,

as the solstice is replaced by an equinox

who chills each grin, 

blanketing the range from scrutiny.

Perhaps the map-maker would never work fast enough

to determine the proper scale,

but rather devote this life to an interminable fascination

with the mountain's unchartable expressions.