Early Morning Dust The smell of early morning dust Lay heavy in the air, My boots gave up the only proof, That I was ever there. Sun brightly washed my weathered path, Warm air replaced the chill. My breath was all that I could hear, For it was very still. The heather blushed and daises beamed, The Larch stood oh so grand. Paintbrush, phlox, lupine, and lilies Dripped color on the land. A small stream trickled by the trail, An Ouzel bobbed around, A large patch of pink colored snow Lay melting on the ground. The hogs back was very narrow, The trail was very steep. A motherly doe stood gazing, Two fawns within her keep. While resting on my earthen couch, A breeze began to blow. My eyes devoured every scene, I did not want to go. I was honored to share this place, To go where eagles dare. I wish that I could leave up here, My every worldly care. Yet, I will leave and take with me, Within my heart so bold, Nature’s pure and plentiful peace, Worth more than any gold. By Dennis Stilwell January 2003