Jackson Lake

I long for purple mountains 
flooded over by the mist, 
morning dew lingering 
upon the fading tracks of 
moose and antelope 
on the open marshland- 

I ache to just sit there 
within the warmth of that lodge 
once more 
and read, glancing up every now and then 
to take it in- 
We don't see that sort of thing much here- 

I ache for springtime 
when mornings are almost cheerful 
everything is new again, 
wipe the slate clean once more- 
It is in those few precious moments 
when I can feel everything at once, 
when there is promise in 
that crisp air- 

• Lire d´autres travaux de Rebecca Harris
• Envoye l´email à Rebecca Harris
• http://bonyfingeredlimbs.blogspot.com