It was a quiet sunrise,
Below me was a herd of elk,
I felt the solitude.
A bright field of flowers separates the horizon from the sky
Up close, there are many colors,
Red, blue, white, purple, yellow,
Each their own masterpiece.
The moose is wakened,
The mountains are alive
And traced in snowfall.
The canyon holds a rush of water,
Down it lay many rapids
All in a mass of white torrent.
Newly fallen snow covers the mountainside,
Two meandering parallel tracks
lead your eyes down the canyon
I have already skied there.
A fish jumps in the middle of the lake
Rings glide across the water,
The fish are hungry,
The ice has melted.
In the mountains,
Tucked away in a snowy canyon,
Is a lonely pine tree.
The thunder fills the air with anger
The lightning illuminates the craggy peaks
The hail pounds on the rocks and trees
This is natures symphony.
The elaborate face of the cliff,
The cracks placed unevenly over it,
Only a small obstacle in my journey to the other side.
The snow falls into the canyon
Each snowflake, completely unique,
Helps weave a blanket of whiteness.
The trail disappears around a clump of trees
The earth moves under my feet
Out of breath,
Half way there.
The sunset is the end of the day
The woods are quiet
Until the sunrise.
The mountains are sugar to the eyes,
The river is a massage for the ears.