Mountains High

Mountain High

Chugging through the valley, along a flat straight road;

Traffic whizzing, heat, oppressing--mountains faint through haze.

I know I cannot stand another long flat mile,

Then, I spy an elevation marker: 1000 feet.

Though it's still hot, my mind feels cooler.

John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High" plays on the tape.

In my ears, a pressure--swallow hard--and then again;

Feel the "pop," just before "2000 feet."

The road is narrowed, climbing, now;

Valley starts to fall behind, the mountains seem less coy.

3000 feet--trees now offer welcome shade;

A hawk and defiant crow are my company now.

I see a jay, a deer, more trees; more kinds.

The air smells pure,!

4000 feet--I have arrived!

All the gold in California is not in a bank or a mine;

It's here: it's the mountains themselves! it's free!

I've never seen the Rockies; still, I get a Mountain High.

John Denver--Gone Too Soon

I still love his music; but more often now, it makes me cry than sing along. So sad, such a waste; such a terrible loss of a talented musician.

© 19/9, C.E. Carl; 
© rev.9/62; 1/96; 5/96, C.E. Carl; 
© 2/14/10, C.E. (Carl) Elias; 
© rev. 2-16-13, C.E. (Carl) Elias

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