The Language of the Mountains

THE LANGUAGE OF THE MOUNTAINS These are MY own mountains, Which have been admired by many pilgrims before me. Yet these dales of heaven are unchanged by their words. As a language is owned by me and countless others, Myriad-coloured with shades of others’ meanings, But is forever still mine. Measureless silent airy voids between Front hills dry with scattered pines; Then green-draped forests of soft fir-spines, Shielding in turn the way to heaven’s haven. Each proud snow-bound summit Unclimbed save one or two, I own them all. I am in their majestic thrall - An ownership consummate. They speak in my memory like kin. When away, I miss them like close friends. Unchanging, familiar, warm - without end. Outside me, but deep within. .................................................................. NOTE. I used to live in the high Rockies in Alberta. It seemed that not only I, but all the locals, shared exactly the same feelings towards "their" mountains.