Early Morning Dust
The smell of early morning dust
Lay heavy in the air,
My boots gave up the only proof,
That I was ever there.

Sun brightly washed my weathered path,
Warm air replaced the chill.
My breath was all that I could hear,
For it was very still.

The heather blushed and daises beamed,
The Larch stood oh so grand.
Paintbrush, phlox, lupine, and lilies
Dripped color on the land.

A small stream trickled by the trail,
An Ouzel bobbed around,
A large patch of pink colored snow
Lay melting on the ground.
The hogs back was very narrow,
The trail was very steep.
A motherly doe stood gazing,
Two fawns within her keep.

While resting on my earthen couch,
A breeze began to blow.
My eyes devoured every scene,
I did not want to go.

I was honored to share this place,
To go where eagles dare.
I wish that I could leave up here,
My every worldly care.

Yet, I will leave and take with me,
Within my heart so bold,
Nature’s pure and plentiful peace,
Worth more than any gold.
By Dennis Stilwell
January 2003
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