Troy, Montana
Respect for the creatures that endure winter's appearance.
Never ending thin pines waver in the mountain's blow.
A blue jay's lone call trumpets through the valley.
The river harmonizes with the whistling wind.
Fall air penetrates the backbone chilling one entirely.
You can't help to surrender. It's impossible to decipher why.
It's beauty. It's size.
The humbling respect fueled by wild conconcted senses.
You are over stimulated.
Paralyzed in gaze, encaptured.
Your instinct is to bow before the scene.
Alerted and concerned with where you should exist.
Within the clouds? Taking occupancy on the tips of the pines?
Or down below hiding in the shadows on the forest floor?
Humbled by Nature's performance.
Your pace turns brisk, your eyes are sharpened.
Scents become overwhelming. Hair stands erect.
Aspen quivers, shivers.
Majestic and supersized. In an instant, you are minature-ized.
God's humongous sculptures.
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