The Mountain Spirits still dance,
they are still alive.
I've heard their drums
echoeing in the distance,
heard their tremelos carress the moon,
breaking the silence of the night.

At dawn I've found ashes,
felt the warmth
of red hot fires,
smoldering remains
of ancient coals.

I've crept up on them,
startled,
I've watched them leap
and become deer.
Then vanish
into the rising winter fog.