The rocky paths,
The slender trees,
The gentle drizzle,
The heavenly breeze.

The ice cool water
Of a mountain spring,
The scent of rain
Making crickets sting.

The breathtaking view
Of the valley below,
The heady pine fragrance,
Wherever I go.

The fog that hides
The view from my eyes,
The snowcapped peaks,
The golden sunrise.

The rolling thunder
Announcing a storm,
Birds huddled in nests
To keep themselves warm.

The thunderous might
Of a cascading fall,
Fed by the rain,
Enthralls one and all.

High over the peaks
A lone eagle flies,
Its wings spread across
The grey murky skies.

The magnificent pines sway
On a dark windy night
That lights up in flashes,
Of silvery-white

The rain beats down
On cliffs sheer and steep,
The menacing slopes,
The valley so deep.

My bus trundles on, on
Its path serpentine
My eyes are glued
To the gorge and ravine

Far away at a distance
Village homes on a slope
Their twinkling hearths
Fill me with hope.

The hills have a magic
That never can wane
I pine to go back
Again and again.