Tall and evergreen the trees stand one aside the other. The golden eagle soars it's wings spreading fat across the treetops. Fresh is the scent one feels filtering through the pine needle breeze. Longing to stay still and breathless in its majesty. Facing the shade of the underbrush for a cool interim from the salt dewdrops upon the brow. They're to barrow the shade of its canopy, in a long lasting dream to capture every particle. Returning back to the memory time and time again.
Looking down to the valley all gold and shimmering. All it's peaks of soft pink reflecting it's intense heat. Still you must return, hoping to retain a piece of cool green in your pocket. It's a gift that so often leaves you with. The thought that all things chance and this to will pass.
That if all the mountains stand and all the valleys remain. I to will fallow the mountains misty mornings and the valleys twilight color rays all of my life. Till I can no longer stand in it's majesty or touch its gifts. But always the dream soars on the wings of an eagle.
