Mathematical Landscape

The altitude of a mountain is a river flowing straight down from the peak,

Snow covers the slope, at a 45^° angle,

And a falling rock bisects the angle and makes a path on the ground,

You can not hear a sound.

Valleys are asymptotes on the grid of the Earth,

Standing at a tree, with the square root of one million branches,

I survey the area,

using the distance formula, and the quadratic formula, and transversals, and theorems;

The wonder of the area is greater than all of the sums.

Wind blows now and then,

It rustles the papers with all the fractions,

Today, I calculate the measure of the hypotenuse of the majestic summit,

In the air, kites (shaped like trapezoids, rhombi, and squares) do not plummet.

By a small stream,

two little logs, near a group of pines,

are arranged to make a parallel line;

If one were to look closer, it would appear,

there would be a population of creatures – rabbits, eagles, owls, butterflies, and deer.

What I mean to say is that

there is a perfect rate of change of seasons, here,

The sun shines brightly, everywhere,

Flowers bloom in perpendicular lines, near the median of the scene,

Everything functions as it should,

It is a great formula for a beautiful day.

Suddenly, there is a cacophonous occurrence,

When the flowers are blooming,

With the animals zooming,

and a storm is looming, with thunder booming –

there is no mode of transportation back, or of oncoming confusion –

And then - the clouds float silently back again.

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