Wherever there's  a breeze a-blowing
wherever there's a trail a-winding;
that's the spot that I'll be going
that's the path that I'll be finding.

Among the petroglyphs and grasses
on wind-swept mesas high above;
I give the views long-looking passes
familiar scenes I've come to love.

On mountain crossings way up high
I marvel at the rounded peaks;
drink in the spirits of the sky
gaining solace that one seeks.

Along the sandy canyon's wall
the season's evening sun is falling;
my shadow stretches ten feet tall
I hear the song of nature calling.

Wherever there are hills to walk
wherever there are eagles soaring;
wherever there's no need of talk
I'll listen to the waters,  roaring.