Sometimes on a Mountain in September

 Kate Messner has a poem titled "Sometimes on a Mountain in April" that I really like. Since I just spent some time in the mountains over the weekend, I thought I would use her poem as a jumping off point for one of my own.

Sometimes, on a mountain in September,
gold barely shows itself,
hiding its treasure.
Reds, deep and rich,
velvet the hills,
vying with deep greens
for attention.

Sometimes on a mountain in September,
the sounds of the town in the valley
are drowned by the still-rushing river,
bounding over rocks,
nourishing mother and fawn
hidden beneath the reds and greens.
Crickets, startled by our presence,
chirrup loud exclamation points
as they fly past.

Sometimes on a mountain in September,
the sky is the bluest you can remember.
The beauty almost hurts your eyes--
so unused they are to seeing.
It definitely dents your heart.
And the road that led you to this spot
winds away like a promise:
peace.


Sometimes, on a mountain in September,
worries and stress get buried
under reds and greens
and rushing rivers
and crickets
and sky.
Left
Sometimes on a mountain in September.