Just before night extends to the door, the world awakens. It doesn’t awaken just anywhere, but it awakens in a part of the world full of beauty and grace. It’s a place where mountain meets sky, snow becomes a river, and nature abounds endlessly. In a place tucked into a corner of this great world, there lies a treasure not of gold or silver, but of mountains and ponds, rivers and streams, haystacks and timbers, country roads and cabins. When night reaches outward, a new earth is born.
With the Ute as the backdrop, it stretches for miles and miles. The turquoise sky melts into a deeper blue, then to pink, then to orange and finally purple. The sunset ripples across a sky like waves on an ocean, touching each piece of heaven. It’s a symphony without words or music. It’s a symphony of an artist; the work is dissimilar each evening but the song is as beautiful each evening. The clouds are few, but one cloud resembles a trumpet, and the sunset is its song.
There are more symphonies, more songs, more art. There is the pond, still and quiet and small and bright beneath the sky. Horses linger near the water, their manes covering soft eyes. The tranquil air permeates their hearts, and watching them from a distance gives you a feeling of peace and tranquility. The bull frogs begin their ballad, followed by crickets. The frogs’ call drifts to the back yard of the ranch. It is still. Yet the frogs and horses and crickets and sunset are thunderous in their own special way.
The front door to the ranch is open, because this is a summer evening and there’s isn’t snow to keep out, only warmth and joy to let in. But it has its song, too. The instrument is an organ, playing low and soft. The songs are seasoned, but so are the sunsets and the horses and the crickets and bull frogs. This symphony fills the yard and the little house with love and memories.
Before me I’m filled with memories, old and new. Like a symphony, the music is known and treasured. This music is seen with the eyes and heard through the soul. This music helped me to be who I am. It’s been heard many years ago, and it has been heard yesterday. I visit the symphony daily in my mind, because it is grand and good.
A mountain’s song is a symphony, fading never. Lasting: Always.