The sun is bright, the air is warm,
on this, my noontime walk;
the wind blows steadily,
but not enough to balk.
My legs are eager, full with grit,
my face, breaks into smiles;
snow-capped peaks are distant,
perhaps, a hundred miles.
The spring-time grass is golden,
like Kansas wheat in bloom;
I look at far flung valleys,
with ample, elbow room.
Serenity surrounds my soul,
engulfs me, with its calm;
I trek the rugged ridges,
the hiking...like a balm.
At night, the skies light up,
where the coyotes often croon;
I touch the stars with fingertips,
and then... caress the moon.