Les Alpes françaises

Is it selfish or is it just

that I walk among such beauty? –

To breath in the morning frost

and be engulfed by the valley

nestled between mountains crowned with snow?

What is whiter?

The fluffy blankets of neige

or the sterile fluorescent lights?

I never asked you if you had seen the

magic

icicles wave over nature.

And you will never see it.

How the world comes alive after

the glories of the Fall!

The leaves may tumble and turn to dust

But the gleaming lights of winter sprinkle

hope;

A beacon through the blackened night.

Your sore feet drag through inches of

mud and snow

Up and up

over rocks, over frozen creeks and river beds

Lungs tighten as the air becomes thinner

threatening to choke your esophagus.

Until your wary feet blistered and

covered with bruises where the blood pounds in time

to each tick of the secondhand.

At last

Your feet have found

heaven.

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