​I stepped out
on the promontory
and could not breathe.
The question mark
in my mind:
How can this beauty
welcoming my eye
be so vast,
and go unappreciated?
Hills were adorned
in a cascade of
varicolored jewels
from head to foot,
waving as they
rolled away towards
the far horizon.
A majestic mosaic
that invited
colorful phrases
to my mind, punctuated
by crimson, vermilion,
and gold.
My heart swelled
with the music
of countless sparrows,
swelled with the song
of larks in the trees.
I sighed,
and in rushed
the taste of pines
blanketing sleepy mountains.
In rushed
the perfume of
ripening apples
falling to the Harvest.
In rushed the warmth
of the sun glinting
on the river
as it cut a path
that divided splendor,
and fell away
in a white spray,
an exclamation point
at the end of earth’s
sentence.
And I read the
unwritten words of
Rip Van Winkle’s hills.

M. Zane McClellan

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