standing on the edge of your beauty,
found a path through the scrub that
               Brings me to my knees,       to        a     place
                    where I have not been,
                          for some Swiss time.

From this precipice there is, naught but beauty.

you must be here, your winged wonders,
hang on the updrafts like it is the breath
                   That you exhale with care,
                        just enough to hold           them         there
                                 hundreds in flight,
                                      in sight.

I have no way to capture this, complete with what my eyes alone, do soak.

or you make the wind and water in this fjord far below,
hue of the blue sky so pure with a cloud or two, for show,
        I so badly want to shout and    hear    the    echo,    echo
               but to have this view, for me, quiet
                  silence is the comfort, I need.

Strand me here  if you must in this place this,  
  
space so free and so much to see, so far from society
especially delightful to such as these, a part of your
                         Creative identity, but    who     am    I,
                                that I should see the face of,
                                      you, in whom I believe.

And yet I live.


©ClemC102013