Running water and frost in my hair
Sweet birdsong in tall pine trees
Dark and lightly tipped yellow ochre.
The sound of wood splitting - kindling.
Soft footsteps of deer and the call of the
Black-Jack Crow squawking in the crisp air
Cracking across the green valley.
The night black Star-struck stillness
Fades into dawn's first shades of grey
Then seemingly changes into vivid hues of green
Each day fresh as never before seen.
Humming birds humming, hovering
Sun - tipping the mountain
Pouring like hot custard
Melting the shadows into bright sweet desserts
Too good enough to taste
The crisp breath still in the air
On the lakeside walking -
Still dizzy with mountain's height in my bloodstream -
Reluctant to travel on
Yet keen to wander the lakeside paths
On my first Rocky Mountain Morning.