Another Day At the Top of the World

I am the peakest of peaks. I rise out of morning mist, a castle of earth. From my towers, I see everything... where sky meets heaven, sunshine meets shadow. My spires: pine, spruce, fir, cling where they can. Eagles, my banners, soar in the wind. My courtyard is that valley below, tents of blue and green. Listen to my buglers, the elk, boasting how they can withstand this climate of wind, of cold. I have no need of travel guides. Though jets fly past my face promising passengers rare vacations, I am quite content. When the Sun sinks in the west, silvery purple and yellowy gold wildflowers vanish. Banners are still. Buglers sleep. Then I lift my eyes where endless stars await my gaze. As for me and the Moon... we can almost touch.