A stump to sit on, in a wild, a wild of Aspen, pine and fir, in the mountains,  in the feeling of free, my seat is an old tree, in a meadow clearing, of mountain grass and bramble, I’m on just a little ramble, looking at my shadow  as I sit, listening to the ice cracking on the creek as it flows below, and birds chirping somewhere behind me, not a cloud in the sky, not a breath of a breeze, feel the sun warm on my neck as the cold nips my fingers,  breathing it all in, letting it under my skin