The buzzing of bees

in Alpine meadows.

Gentian and Queen Ann’s Lace,

Heather and Huckleberry.

An aroma of crushed herbs

and tree scents

that bring back pleasant memories.

 

Fall air, warm and golden,

harvested fresh in the early spring.

Aged through the long days of summer

to a vintage of perfection.

Air, amber in texture,

that permeated the very soul

 

The tinkle of stone bells,

in an icy brook.

The sound of thunder,

in a waterfall.

The whisper of lace,

in the billowing spray.

The silence of tears,

on a rocky face.

 

In snowy majesty

the mountain soared.

Safe in it’s ageless sky.

Unmoved by mere mortals

who stand in awe,

whispering it’s name,

witness to it’s power

and for a few short moments

sharing part of it’s eternity.

David Garlick, Seattle, September, 1990