Ears are not the only parts that hear. Our eyes hear those
things too quiet for our ears; they hear those songs that can only be found in
the curves of the landscape. Those songs
are in the inclines of the mountain and the tufts of fur tree shivering under
the freshly fallen snow. It is those
notes that are in rivers fighting the freeze and in the sun piercing through
the clouds, its rays magnifying the melody.
It is the song of birds unwilling to leave their homes boldly defying
Mother Nature, and of the stubborn orange bushes, naked of their leaves, which
refuse to be hidden. It is the bass
undertones of the red-brown etchings in the cliff face that stands as a
sentinel. My eyes hear their song. Their harmony calls to my wandering heart and
thrums in my bones. It blankets me in
its beauty and sings to me, “You are home.”
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| Teton Mountain Pass, taken on our drive through yesterday... the drive that inspired this prose. |
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