THE MOUNTAINS OF HOME

They call to me still in the gentle feelings of evening and in the early, golden rays of a new dawn. I see them etched clearly in my mind - tall and red and beckoning to the child still in my soul. I feel them deep within my heart calling me, calling me, calling me...

"Come, climb my peaks once more. Sit on my top and listen to the clean air brush through the pinion pines and ruffle your hair. Search my caves and caverns. Pick my Indian paintbrushes and snowballs and sweet peas. Gather the remnants of others who used to roam me freely ages past - arrowheads among the sagebrush. Come, sing and whistle as you used to, little child, while you scamper over my rocks and boulders, flinging your worries and cares down my canyons and rushing winds. Sit upon my sun-warmed sands, close to Heaven, and look down and ponder on all the glories of your valley home. Then let my strength seal all these wonders in your child heart to last for eternity to bring you back to me when you are grown."

"I am the Mountains of your Home, I will stand here forever, even after you have become too old to wander my silent paths, to play among my rocks and shout joyously from my tops, I am the mountains of your home. I will be here when you return."

Winna Brown Kalauli