I walk in powdery snow in the mountains, among flakes floating out of the trees and sparkling in the sunlight, on a path with no tracks yet, except now mine. I see mountain peaks white with fresh fallen snow as I stand in high Colorado listening to the wind whisper in the pine, maybe that explains why I feel so fine, frost on the grass, snow on the pass, buck in the brush, feel no rush, there’s bears in the cottonwoods, feels so good, and as I stand by a clear flowing stream listening to a hawk scream in the sky maybe that is why there is now a tear in my eye.