Beneath the Aspens
Nature is the world’s oldest orchestra.
Standing in silence, I listen to each member of the ensemble.
Miles of aspens brush one another, coerced by the gentle breeze around us.
Finches serenade endlessly as a woodpecker rattles for an afternoon snack.
Within the sea of white and gold, a stream continues its endless journey.
Beyond the valleys and hills, a lone elk desperately bugles for attention.
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I walk cautiously down the worn trail, adding small notes to the melody.
Each step lets out a dull crunch as chestnut clouds coat the soles of my boots.
Reaching the path’s end, I close my eyes and inhale the cool scent of conifers.
Opening my gaze reveals a vast field that lives in the shadows of snowy peaks.
I admire the scene’s divinity for quite some time, wishing I could stay forever.
But like all moments in life, this one is destined to become another memory.
===
Leaving the trail, I brush branches with my fingers as a gentle goodbye.
I scan the scenery with each step, memorizing the views for later thoughts.
Over time, the orchestra fades into silence and is masked by a familiar tune.
Conversations fill the air, backpacks click, and engines purr in the distance.
I turn my car key and the seat rumbles. A bittersweet feeling washes over me.
I no longer hear the orchestra’s song, but I know they continue to play.
Now and forever.
