Morning has broken here.  Light shimmers on dew topped needles.  Cold air warms as the sun bathes the treetops and filters down through the russet branches.  Fresh pine scent permeates the forest and I inhale.

An Ode to the Mountain in A minor

There is space here.  There is space and air and sky.

I am aloft, atop and amid emerald conical shapes.

There are vistas here.  There are views and outlines and horizons.

I am aware, among and around earthy sensual forms.

There is life here.  There is sameness and change and struggle.

I am awake, attuned and alert to curves, climbs and descents.

There is weather here.  There is snow and wind and fog.

I am amazed, appreciative and absorbed by the stark, isolated patterns.

There is genuineness here.  There is ruggedness and rigidity and softness.

I am awed, attached and attracted to the authentic atmosphere of creation…Here