The cool mountain breeze
And the warm autumn sun
On my skin
One,
Now the other.
A warm gentle ray,
Then a wisp of the wind,
And my soul seems to rush deep within.
Flying with time,
All alone,
Without wings,
From high rocky crags
To blue streams.
I soar
'Till the night
Like a black velvet sash
Is drawn
Over a scarlet red sky.
The cold mountain wind
As it shrieks across spruce,
Brings a chill with a fire of frost.
So along with the sun
Behind ridges I slide
Only to rise
To the crest
With the dawn.
Copyright© by Mark W. Vance
October 1973