"This was not a verse..per se..but prose..written in a
journal last September..when the long days of summer began to fade..I sat
back and contemplated what was to come...in the shadow of the mountainside
in Breckenridge Colorado..hence the title..
A mountain..I have found, takes you on its own journey...but
what one maybe searching for may not be there. It maybe a time of waiting...
even now when the sun warms one's shoulders..like a smile..like a hug..like
a strong..gentle whisper in the wind..the waiting outlasts..all of them."
- Nancy G. Jurka
Snow has begun to streak the foggy, misty filled bowls of the
mountain..
Echoes of summer are fading into its gray mist
Wildflowers now lazy...on slopes nearby...
wanting to be touched by the chilly frost of snow..
waiting for the nod to put out their light to rest until spring.
Autumn of my high country days greets me with a feeling of
crisp, cobalt blue..
of weathered spruces graced by the strong, whispering wind...
echoing its own changes..
of sunlight streaking through soft, calm clouds that shadows
the mighty summits.
Strands of aspen gold splashes the mountainside
with its spirit of singing color
ceases it journey at the timberline ...
a place where the brutal cruelty of winter and its everchanging
turmoil awaits..
once again to cast its dominance.
It is said..that "winter is just down the street."
In the autumn of my high country days..
winter is up mountainside..
Waiting to its own create its own memory once again..