On Summer in the Sierras

In my mind I am moving through the trees

Clear cold air, while the smell of pines surrounds,

The roar of water just ahead of me,

I walk like a lover toward its sound.

What I would not give to have that era

In all its granite glory once again

To wake, walk northward through the Sierra

Through flowing rivers and green forest glen.

Oh, how the freedom of forward motion

Calls to me at all hours of the day

Beckons like waves, like tides in the ocean

Like a whisper: Come here again. This way.

I wait in patient rapture for the time

For distance, trees, and mountains I can climb.