Soft brushstrokes of pines sweep the hills
Painting the ridges in infinite greens
Lacy veils of rain grace the valleys
Shyly staging a dance of light and shadow
Snowy ridges eagerly snare the sun’s light before hurling it skyward
leaving behind only a brilliant white gleaming on their proud faces
And cutting, unswaying, into the playful clouds
rise the spires of stone cathedrals, the fierce spine of the earth
Born from catastrophe and the collapse of what had always been
their broken bones,
their cracked ribs,
their shattered lines,
are worn with strength and resolution
They bear no exception to the laws of time;
not even these mountains are invincible
But right now, they stand
and it is enough