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Ode to my Range of Mountains
The mountains live in my backyard
pressed tight against this valley—
a mother wearing an apron of snow
father with a jagged beard
little sister burned in summer—
Tell me, mountains that raised me,
why didn’t you warn me
when I was going to make a mistake?
Still, thank you,
for many things:
for long grass in springtime,
the red fox who darted out,
the deer and the steep path,
the stream and beaver dams,
for the time I hiked to your top at night
and lost the trail coming down,
for the way the weeds glowed like gold
under the navy sky as I came down through them—
the way I felt that I too had been alive a thousand years.
{Ashley Mae Hoiland}
For more of this yummy goodness, check her work out here and thank me later.
Dang it! I wish I had been there. These are beautiful Holly! I love that you shot at the library. How perfect.
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