Heading to the hills, even
though I already live there . . .
I cannot go up these byways w/o
being absolutely wowed! Mother's
gifts to us are never diminished
by her . . . alas, only by us.
We reach s summit and see yet
another valley flooded in beauty
without par. Everywhere I look
I am touched.
I look at her palette laden with a
variety of greens with those odd
bits of color thrown in . . . I feel
the tears coursing my cheeks.
I long to stop and pick up a rock.
Best souvenir E V E R !!! Then,
I see roadside trash someone has
thoughtlessly dumped and I feel
my face redden in anger. How is
it possible that we could spit in
Mother's face in this manner?
I will pick up bits and pieces of
garbage when I can, but I must
set it aside and immerse myself
in this pure glory . . .
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