The mountains from my childhood
stand strong and unchanging.
The sharp smell of pine hangs in the air,
the cool, damp grass brushes past my shins.
The bite of cold is in the air.
The rich scent of fallen leaves and moist dust
rises from the ground.
The soothing, bubbling sound as the stream
flows gently below the small wooden planks.
In the distance the river winds its slow rippled path
down the rocky stream bed.
I breathe it all in deeply, for I know that I will not
come again until next spring when the trees
begin their life anew.
As I stand in this monument built by God
I realize that He is unchanging,
It is me that changes and bends with the wind.
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