Poetry

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To stand atop a lofty mountain...
Green where I stand, but when viewed from below,
And from afar...a royal purple.
This is my place.

To be at altitudes so high, the shapeless mist
(Creating., what appears from below as a fluffy, billowing,
Fleecy-white cloud) deposits its cool moisture on my face.

I feel a closeness to origins and to The Originator!
A kinship with creation and with the Creator!
And my spirit extends out, and reaches upward
Through this shortened distance to His Throne.

I need the strength given by the fragrance of the pines;
The calling of birds. And I need the challenge of Nature's elements.
(IF victorious, it is the only battle I do which I can be proud of winning;
And if I lose to such a formidable...sometimes unforgiving opponent
It is not the bitter defeat of being conquered by an enemy...
(Simply, bested...by a Friend!)

My soul withers...

My being cries out.
My spirit loses direction, and
My body bears the marks and scars
The evidences of conflict.
The....the battles that have too long taken place
On fields of asphalt and concrete.

I'm tired...
Let me rest
In Nature.

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