By Libby Ferrara, 2016
Path threading now round alder grove,
wind blown hemlocks and steep snow drove.
Low angled sun throws silver cast,
like grayscale prints of photos past.
Up gently climbing ridgelines loft,
the surface shifts from firm to soft.
Panoramic view from peak earned,
can’t be bought, sold or returned.
Winters brief light won’t linger long,
already shades of hue are gone.
Time now come for a swift descent,
alpenglow turns luxuriant!
Sweeping line twisting to and fro,
intuition knows where to go.
Re-meeting trees at mountains base,
through valley find the way to trace.
Back to rambling cabin warm,
where happy voices gladly storm.
Outside mountains to darkness fade,
while in, for slippers ski boots trade.
Until the sun does rise once more,
the gear can wait stacked at the door.
For now we eat and drink and sway,
yurt life perfectly ends the day!
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