Those trees, dark and firm, frame an accent of yellow and orange, calling my return.
Aspen flicker in a subtle breeze, beneath my boots, a slender ridge whispers through the trees.
The descent is gentle, and so I am lulled, into its vastness, the return punishing and judgmental.
When river flowers wilt and berries shrivel, the oven bird marches higher, passing in the middle.
Each step qualifies my years, lungs bursting, knees aching, my body is tormented yet my mind perseveres.
Slave to a fall-time passion for the earth, jewels of mottled blue lie in waiting to define my worth.
A moment captured in scent from the hound, my senses tingle at the thought of what might be found.
An exploding rock takes flight just two steps down. Look toward the heavens, framed in blue is a perfect bird greyish and brown.