Written by: sharon peeples

Gazing over the plains nestled far below Inching our way over rock-strewn trails, The words resounding through our thoughts Keep ivy growing wild, reaching For moisture in several directions at once. The attention we give these mountains needs No conversation to make a point or hold The soul rapt with an abundance of peace. Air is as light as heaven when the nights Rehearse their lines in circles of tranquility. Silence fills the canyon is hope on a Short string tied to quiescent ambiance. Stillness settles Over us like shadows on the craggy back of Longs Peak. Watching the dawn clothe massive cairns with a purple Mountain majesty, our mute response serves only to affirm.... To speak would be a sacrilege. ****