Tag Archives: Mountains

Winter’s Last Night

Here I sit detached, adrift,
through dying embers seek and sift,
in hoping for a welling flame
to heat the hearth and so in claim
a victory toward the spring.

The cords of fuel have spent their best
to heat this home, to garner rest
through lengthened nights of bitter cold,
through winter’s best and deepest hold,
through crackling fires, sing.

The wood pile is depleted now,
the fourteen cords I stacked somehow
have been reduced to eight sticks here,
piled at hearth in hope and fear
of how this winter ends.

Hopes of spring in March relent
to winter’s snow and frozen scent
that whirls around this alpine cot,
trading warmth and embers hot
for hope this season’s time transcends.

Eight sticks, one night, if not to freeze.
Like bread and fish and wine conceive
a hope for Christ to gather here
upon this mount with sermon dear
to hold the storm at bay.

But as the embers gently hush
I find the calm, ignore the rush,
sacrifice on piece of eight
pray that winter’s cold will wait
with me until the day,
and morn will bring the sun.

At warming hearth in blankets deep,
tucked into a rocking sleep,
I hear the whisper of the wind
calling me as gentle fiend
as if to say just one’s okay,
and promising the sun.

So into peace I run…

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Filed under Dreams, Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry

The Gypsy Rover

Her silken touch in dance across the twill’s uneven strand,
graces so her slender wrist as beauty’s stem and giving’s hand.
Poised in quiet pleasure, she works the loom in quickened throws
of shuttle passing twixt the threads which capture kind the weft in rows.

Her mind and heart deny the task that binds this simple weave,
permits her drift on whispered tones of gypsy songs that pitch and heave
through stories of the rover, of hearts won true seduced by song,
of verdant green and rolling rills that tempt a maiden’s heart strings long.

Between the woven threads of twill she hears a whistling soft and sweet
that slowly grows above the hill, its timber and its tone complete.
She feels the green wood gently ring in echo ‘cross the valley’s rill,
till nearer from the shady lane she feels her heart give rise, then still…

“But for gypsy rover!” she laughs and pulls the warp lines tight,
“One day he’ll yet come for me!” smiles and casts the shuttle’s flight
between the warp suspended threads, sweetly bound by loving hand,
blended with the rover’s song still tempting maidens through the land.

In honor of and inspired by the song “The Whistling Gypsy” also known as “The Gypsy Rover”

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Filed under Memory, Mountains, Nature, Poetry, True Love

Snow’s Sweet Mercy

Ripples frozen white on white,
cold beneath a winter’s night,
fabric cast in brilliant light
within a blue moon shadow.

Silhouetted black on blue,
shadowed edge in fire’s hue,
sparked on crystal’s single cue
reflecting through the meadow.

Low a single night owl mourns,
hushing wings from storm to storm,
solace seeking winter’s warm
between the branches fallow.

Here a quiet prayer claims
my thoughts and hopes of what remains,
leaves a blessing in the grains
of snow’s sweet mercy, hallowed.


Filed under Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry

Winter’s Vale

Upon this gilded crest I stand
where winter’s dancing dress adorns
the regal length of dale below,
skirting foothills, neatly worn.

A split rail fence, in signature,
defines a wild and aging seam
that hems this ageless beauty,
proposing hope, exposing dreams.

Coyly courting winter comes,
dressed in softened white and grey,
shy and timid tucked behind
the granite range and soft woods fray.

Yet the valley stands unmoved,
flirtations feigned unnoticed there,
coaxing slowly winter’s sum
to speak in cooling wisps of air.

Between the knees of foothills rolls
a slow progression, crystal white,
gathered low across the vale
caressing with a love, a light.

Above the hush approaching,
the sky recedes in charcoal black,
wraps the moment’s solitude,
granting solace, stealing back.

Winter finds its bolder self
and rises to a bitter howl
that bursts in sudden hemorrhage
of driven snow and gusty growls.

How innocent here the valley lays,
silent in the storm,
subdued in gathering crystal white,
enrobed as winter’s wife, and warm.

I deny my presence
to the sensuous play beyond my stance,
chased from this my borrowed perch
to let this moment’s pleasure dance
and let this moment turn,
where what the season’s changing brings
is what this vale so deeply yearns.


Filed under Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Where First Snows Fly


Between the hills of time I rise to meet the last of autumn still,
paused at moment’s pondering, with cup in hand near lea and rill.
The morning air does call me to kiss my love, my fall, goodbye,
to trek the path to timber’s edge, to meadow’s cirque where first snows fly.

So gather what I need and must, I set my path to cairns I trust.


Between the hills of time I walk along the rill that whispers still,
I leave the lea behind me with grateful steps to bless my will.
The grasses dry, and seedless,enwrap the feet of aspen groves
whose spotted bark stands white and bare, midst ruddy leaves heaped up in loaves.



The summer’s scrub that once was green stands burnt in tarnished autumn red,
portrays a pillow sweetly laid in meadow grass for winter’s bed.
The silent breath of morning prays undisturbed by wind’s caress,
yet joined by quiet prattling of falling leaves released to rest.



As the hills in confluence meet, the dell’s denied its fold,
leads me cresting rise and roll to stand at valley’s longest hold.
In the distance stand the Massives, the granite Kings and Queens of Earth,
that draw my journey westward in hope to witness winter’s birth.


As stream’s companion through the valley, I step in quiet contemplation,
drawing every whisper in that speaks anticipation.
At Massive’s knees the valley ends with guarding alpine fir,
whose dense and stretching boughs deny the slightest wind to stir.


So to climbing stream I must, to lead me to the cairns I trust.


Above the stream’s sharp climb I find a path that deer and elk must know.
In steps of theirs I follow, ‘til only echoes far below.
There I find the higher road that very few have seen.
There I rest within the sight of Massive King and Queen.


Through alpine thick, luxurious, I trod with gypsy song in heart
and sing until the green wood rings through echoes harmonized in part.


As through last twist of trail I climb, I rise upon the final crest,
where blowing snow does kindly greet and hide the Massives grey in dress.
I turn my face from stinging snow as wind whips cold toward autumn’s eye,
now caught between the Court of Kings and crystal azure sky.
Before the stolid cirque I kneel, courage facing King and Queen,
I beseech a moment’s council and beg the sun to grace the scene.

At their feet the marsh stands still, reverent yet commanding,
as I in drying grasses claim the truth of where I’m standing.
In whispered tones and crystal light, winter’s voice asked why I’m here.
With gracious bow and nod I said, “To find if winter’s edge is near.
I’ve come to seek the point of flux where sun and storm cast crystals blue.
I’ve come to vow my love of life and give my thanks to all of you.”


In sudden hush the clouds withdrew! The sun in glowing rays did stream
upon the cirque and meadow’s keep! Upon the face of King and Queen!
Awestruck from my lowly stance I raised my face to God above,
whispered kindly, “thank you! This moment blessed! This life is love!”
Gently in the warming air October’s court drew softly blue
and stood this life in sharp relief against the growing azure hue.

As winter’s force is master in October’s court of King and Queen,
with bows and some relenting, I turned to face the alpine green.
As I walked my path to home, I thought of Autumn’s fade,
knowing well her work was done and winter’s bed was surely made.

Today I gathered what I must along the cairns I’ve come to trust.

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Filed under Mountains, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Universal Soul

Above the Alpine Rill

High amid the summer fir,
engaged to overlook the rill
of winding valley’s rising mist,
one moment captured, standing still.

From the shadowed night behind,
swept a feathered rush of wings
just beyond the tall pine’s reach,
aloft this breath of morning, king!

Stoic eagle, timeless brother,
perched on valley’s rising din,
purveyor of this latitude,
great servant to the truth within.

There, by grace of silence
midst summer’s green of sweetened pine,
beheld the hushing heart of nature
in whispered words spoke true and kind…

“Here my sweet beloved
have you come to rest your soul,
where through this moment’s treasure
find the truth that bathes you whole.
Yet for you, in thankfulness,
return the kindness that you share,
in hidden whispered thoughts of God,
aloft this summer’s morning air.”

Not a single breath, took I,
entranced through every stretching beat,
as grace and time converged to still
this captured silence sweet.

… till I …

… till I …

… till I …

Embraced in mountain’s love and home,
adrift in summer’s thermal thrill,
returned His gentle whispered thoughts
suspended ‘bove the alpine rill.

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Filed under Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Blushing Dawn

In gentle rose of dawning light
this alpine meadow sings,
beckoned from her blushing right
to call to day, all things.

From quiet start to fluttered hurry,
all call from one to one to one,
till caught in flustered din and flurry
break the dawning peace in sum.

The forest floor reborn a-wild,
with subtle hints to work yet done,
casts the sun a dimpled smile
and to her burgeoned beauty come.

‘Tis simple best
this sweetly dressed
expression herein lain,
that she embrace
each living face
and with their souls remain.

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Filed under Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Winter Cabin

Quiet here the moments furl
about my simple chair, reposed,
here where evening’s fire curls
blend hearth in liquid care, enclosed
by subtle hints of winter’s scent,
cookies baked, a few to take,
sweat wisp of smoke from fire stoked,
on mountaintop so juxtaposed.

Winter’s love in deepest mirth
beneath a snow white blanket swoons,
delivers sweet the season’s birth
bathed in blues of silver moon,
as snowflakes drift in subtle gift
and sparkle rare in moonlight’s care,
lend this peace a warm release
while midnight calls too soon.

Silent now the dying ember
stretches long this winter’s day,
lonely cabin, here deep in timber
where all my better angels play,
now dims the night in candle light,
cures the scent in tallow spent,
so draws a sigh from dog and I,
toward sleep we soon will stray.

In hesitation’s calm collection
I gather long my senses here,
of silhouetted woods reflection
‘cross the sparkled snow drifts near,
of ember’s glow and shadows low,
in flickered fight of candlelight,
of warmth that brings the kindest wings
to sleep and dreams so dear.


Filed under Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Sweet Seduction

Along the blue steel thread of rails,
peace entreats my quiet wanting
in silhouetted oak tree stands
and shadows black, night’s contrast, haunting.

Waxen moon in full delight
calms November’s rolling dells,
strokes the sultry flaxen lea
to render sweet seduction’s spell.

A feathered breeze, a trembling hush
claimed in shuddering wanton fields,
where forlorn apathetic husks
sense love’s touch and so in yield.

Sweet seduction’s mercy,
before my eyes, across this vale,
thieves my lonely heart from worry
by haunting blue reflected rails
that curve the valley floor,
surrender to the sweet wood’s blind,
to mountains rise to blush once more
and there entreat her love in kind…

Beneath the stroke of naked moon,
between November’s blankets furled,
kissed by meadow’s sweetest rills
before the granite mountains curled.

Here dream do I in longing,
atop this post in autumn’s glove,
yearn to kiss her blushing flesh
and draw her close in sacred love.


Filed under Mountains, Nature, Perspective, Poetry, True Love, Universal Soul

Alpine Moose

A long drawn silence hammers down
the lengthened shadows of this wood,
holds the alpine ether still
and tends the musk where once he stood.

Inadequate temporal witness I,
stumbled through his summer’s bed,
where by the sweetest creek side hush
I chanced upon the great one’s stead.

He rose in contemplation’s hold,
towering tall before my stance,
his ancient eyes of knowing claimed
this startled man with one kind glance.

Yet for a single moment stood,
as if my pounding heart to quell,
then turned through grass and broken briar
to alpine depths he knew so well.

In silent shadow’s ebbing wake
this mountain stream returns to ear,
relents to ether’s melting patience,
holds me awed and frozen here.

written in recollection of the moose I encountered, face to face, Aug 2013, Deadman Pass, CO.


Filed under Mountains, Nature, Poetry