Monday, November 18, 2013

Scene 11: a Prose

Landscape's Lullaby

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.”

Teton Mountain Pass, taken on our drive through yesterday... the drive that inspired this prose. 

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