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Show Well, I told you I was going to get it and I did. I've got a great case of Mountain Fever. Not the Spotted kind, nor any other of the common types. . . but I've got it -and I have a Super dose. I've always been a nut waeie tne mountains are concerned. I love to be in, around, up and down them, and I never seem to get enough. I found an almost perfect spot - the other day. . .You know, that place one can relax, re-lax, and let cares and worries wor-ries slide into the background back-ground for a while, .'.in fact, ! hit the jackpot and found two. The first was a beautiful mountain meadow, just under un-der the snow line, punctuated here and there with late, unrelenting snowbanks. The stream ran swift, clear and Icy cold. The girls played tag on a fallen log across the water. They wanted me to try it -but I was too chicken. There was a time I'd have done it on my hands (likely) but that day I had the prem onition that I'd end up In the drink, and wouldn't try. The air was refreshingly clean and fresh. The music of the mountains echoed through the trees. The blue of the sky was almost overpowering above the aged forest monarchs, who had been sovrelgns of that hillside for many lifetimes. life-times. I hated to leave. The other spot was lower down on the mountainside. The wintry chill was lessened and the sun shone warmly. Carpets of flowers were everywhere. We stopped stop-ped in an area where we were surrounded by wild roses in full bloom. The ground was covered by literally hundreds hun-dreds of flowers, every color . imaginable -from the blood red of the Indian Paintbrush the gold of the daisy, the white, deep purple, to the deep blue of the blueDeiis, we even saw a Sego Lily, a rare treat these days. Cactus Cac-tus were in bloom, and the fuzzy milkweed along the road dazzled the eye with its gigantic white blooms. The girls m igrated to the bank of a stream creating a new channel for itself, as the heavy runoff continued. con-tinued. Bees hummed, and a small gray water snake watched warily as Amy stuck her toe into his watery home. We didn't stay long - not nearly long enough to suit me. I'd have been content to stay the entire day, relaxing re-laxing and reveling in the beauty and ieace that Nature Na-ture had provided - just for us. We are fortunate to have beauty all around us here -we're just a stone's throw from the rugged, yet gorgeous gor-geous desert - and only a little farther from the waiting wait-ing arms of the mountains. The peace, solitude and almost al-most reverent feeling that comes as we enter a mountain moun-tain meadow, and for a brief moment share it with the wild creatures who call it home, Is something we can find no other place. I don't often revert to poetry - but I love to write it. I wrote this one a few years ago when I was stricken by a similar case of Mountain Fever. I called It The Symphony of The Mountain'. One day I rose before the dawn, and climbed a lonely hill. There was silence all around me, the air was calm, 1 and chill. I found a tiny streamlet dancing down to meet the sea, yet I thought, 'how strange and silent a sum -mer morn can be.' The misty valley, silent now, lay hidden from my view. I felt alone, untroub-. led. The hillside shone with dew. I watched the lofty mountain cast aside it's robe of grey, and a tiny feathered feath-ered messenger announced the birth of Day. The flowers nodded sleepy heads, then turned to greet the sun. And there, before be-fore my very eyes a new day had begun. The gentle forest folk appeared from hiding place and lair. I dared not move, lest they should see that I was hidden there. A graceful dn and her speckled fawn moved silently silent-ly down the hill. And came to the brook that lay at my feet - I watched as they drank their fill. Then, over the meadow, a shy little lark sang as he, flitted along, and as if by signal the forest and glen burst forth into glorious song. Whenever my cares and troubles are more than I can bear - I go to my tiny haven, and the peace that awaits me there. The brook now laughs along its way -a tinkling fairy fountain -And I know that I alone can hear - the Symphony of the Mountain.' |