A Pome a Day for a Year

The long downwards dip back up 
into the sharp rise of spires,
porcupine spines elongated widthwise
like a outstretched comb on the horizon.

Wisps of snow, 
flashes of cloud,
swirls of squalls,
shadows overlayed onto cracked and blistered ground.

Precarious rocks jut from the edge,
vantage for the curious,
terror for the wary,
decor for the wandering.

Whirlwinds of brown and grey 
painted across the side 
while green claws outward for sun.

Ageless monuments to a time
of endless turmoil and gas,
stardust blazing a path
into a more fitting form.