That bright yellow wild poppy, why something so delicate blooms on the steep slopes by the thousands?
That hardy pink and rosy one I have not met in names, your fragrance so pleasing, who are you waiting for?
And that one lone blue one with fuzzy stems by the hidden creek, what have you heard since you were born?
Secrets of nature await no one and every one.
There is so much life here I want to cry.
That fluffy white cloud hanging so low and still, as if it is waiting for me to climb on to it for a ride over the green mountains.
Thin air does wonder to the mind, until, a rowdy raven flew across the canyon, laughing at me and my dream.
The wind blew the prayer’s flags steady and loud.
May the spirit of the mountain bless that wounded horse in the alpine meadow, all alone with a sad looking face.
What is not sad is the giant marmot, dashing through the greens.
And that red-tailed black bird, guiding me and my thoughts in the early morning gorge.
The stream tells a never ending story. The granite walls listen in silence.
Nothing else really matters here.
– A break from the plains to the hills and canyons