A Poem

Every morning I look out the same window. At this time of year the scene is a daily highlight. Mist & cloud floating across my view of Majuba Hill. Yarrow is pretty. Sun comes and goes and the view is constantly shifting. It's amazing what we can see when we actually stop long enough to look. This morning it reminded me of hopefulness and bravery to do what is right, but hard, but also good. 

I wrote a poem about it:

Misty Mountain.  

Mist stalks the morning view looking for a mountain to devour.

The breeze is it’s unwitting accomplice.

The mountain has been stolen.

Gripped by guilt, the mist returns the mountain.

The mountain never moved.

Remember the mist.

It is a thief.

It is a liar.

It sinks.

It fades.

It will return.

Fear not the mist.

The mountain never moves.