Holy Sweeping Vista!
Your expansive nature
And your winding ways
Bulge my eyes and lifts my spirit.
Your peaks allow me to perceive magic
And ponder your years.
Who are we to you?
Creatures of movement and waste,
Creatures of judgement and haste?
Even in our old age,
We remain youthful to you,
Oh Mighty Mountain of Magic!
It is you we rely on
To restore our belief in beauty
What- if anything- do you need?
Do you need our protection?
Do you desire our affection?
In the winter do you wait,
Eager with love for
The springtime steppers
The summertime singers
And the fall frolickers?
Is it possible for the mountains to love us back?
To perceive us as similar?
Do you, rocky and rigid outcropping
Do you cherish the Junipers
Who grow from your lifeless depths?
What I’m really wondering about this ancesterous landscape is
How similar you feel to me.
Because I see myself in your steadiness through storms.
I relate to your unwavering presence and acceptance of what is.
I see your loss and recognize it as cyclical change.
I see my scars in your divets.
I sense my reluctance to move in your firmly rooted posture.
I see my wrinkles in your contours.
Everything I see in you,
I find within myself.