L.A. Mountain’s Call
By Armando Ortiz
I walk the adobe road, this old mountain frozen,
sagebrush and baking dust engulf me at the turn.
L.A.’s mountainous slopes like weathered lemon peels,
fade into the afternoon haze.
I disappear into clay and chaparral
A figure in an impressionist landscape.
The portrait dissolves; the fireroad opens.
Deer forage, a yucca thirsts beneath oak shade—
this is where I eternally wander.
Butterfly shadows circle—signs warn of rattlesnakes.
Nature bustles to its own pulse.
Slithering shadows of heat
shimmer across the coastal desert.
At a junction city scents join the trail,
leading to barren heights and spectacular views,
where past and present landmarks remain.
At the summit, a hummingbird pauses, reminding me it too belongs.
Coyotes, forever jokesters, play hide-and-seek with the past.
As I begin my descent, a school of wild quail suddenly breaks the silence.
The male perches atop a branch, wearing a black top hat.
Strange characters live up here—a diorama of memories and life.
Everything alive before my eyes,
sweaty and accomplished, I reach my car.
Tomorrow the hike will fade, my legs will ache,
but already the mountains call me back.
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