Trees bent in perfect lines
as winds embraced every leaf and bow,
and the valley so green
wore a mask of softest diaphanous silk,
as sun struggled to penetrate,
its shards await, in morning’s bright ensue.
Slowly, silently, that mist did rise up
the green and lush hillsides,
and sun one beam at a time,
broke through, its deft touch an exhilaration,
as if life beneath it awoke
to its very warm entreating.
And moments later
the mountain peaks with rich white plumes,
stood tall over village huts,
with a prideful countenance,
glistening all with diamond dew
and mornings blessed touch.
Cows grazed, their cuds in rhythmic banter,
wandered untethered on the grass,
as farmers alight to undertake their tasks
and sun now streaming upon the valley green,
inviting all and everything to life,
another day in these pristine Alps.
And high above from crusted mountain peaks,
glacial water rushes down, cascading,
to feed the rivers below with rushing purity,
bubbling green and frosted clean the flow,
as pines so tall like soldiers guard their meandering,
under bridge and over falls they go.
So alive this place, so beautiful in nature’s grace,
the colors and richness beyond the eye’s imaginings,
and life so content, so easy and profoundly meant,
to work within the majesty of purpose,
and no-one takes for granted the view,
in morn they all stand and peruse their wondrous home.
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