​BLUE RIDGE
 
The sun cascades across my skin
like a golden wind and warms
the spirit of my soul.
I could walk its rugged path a thousand times
and always find something new to love:
a forgotten smell,
a distant view,
or the vibrant color of its moss.
 
The enigmatic maze that is the mountain
becomes my church as I step upon its roots.
Its flowing grace lives within everything
around and rejuvenates my faith.
Every drop that flows across its back
is another baptism for my soul.
I become the richest man alive as the
fields of jaded emerald become mine to reap;
I take only what I need to keep my
dream alive.
 
The whispers of the wind and
the rustle of the leaves
surround my ears like a lullaby
of mountain sound
while the language of nature
becomes a part of
my dialect.
 
My hourglass is set to stop, but every
grain I leave behind is a life worth living.
Memories of the mountain make
my time worthwhile.