Ascending,
muscles speak,
breath shortens,
and the cool, fresh air invigorates,

On the boulder strewn summit,
with its vestiges of snow,
and grey moon dust,
green patches cling close to the ground.

Between the stones and rocks,
within the moist canyons,
green grasses and blooms thrive,
in the late summer.

Beyond the trees,
beneath the late summer sunshine,
the mountain peak dominates,
the deserted ski slopes.

In hopes of snow-to-be,
the lift clangs and beeps,
as it moves in anticipation,
of white mounds of snow.

Beneath the cables,
the rock and grey dust,
are stirred by foot fall,
and breeze.

It is here,
in this alien and sacred place,
that God reveals God’s face,
in crimson leaves.