Pine filtered air roams down hillsides.
Space in the western Rockies stretches comprehension.
Farms and towns in the valleys have room to spare.
Polite Mormons and crude drunks harmonize.
Rewards wait for the adventurer.
Cutthroat trout sip insects from stream tops.
Wandering moose snack on willows.
I have found a permanent paradise.
Let the lowlanders inhale the smog,
frantically rush into knotted traffic.
I was once part of this senseless game.
The caffeine fuelled dash to nowhere.
Keep your artificial palm trees.
Ogle those silicone breasts.
You'll look fashionable in your decadent urban scene.
Drowning your sorrows in expensive wine.
Allow me to laugh at your folly,
as I peacefully shine my shotgun.
The frigid breeze will soon turn to warmth.
I have found my mountain home.
Alone I sit in my granite palace.
Deserted by the coin chasing masses.
Distained by a woman who once loved me.
Tranquility infusing the crisp alpine air.
Wayne M Hill September 30, 2011