High up on the mountain,
the ridges are on the cusp of spring.
The air is churning
with the wild excitement of warm winds
leaping, diving, swirling through the underbrush.
Deliciously trying to push them over the edge and
whispering promises of glory
to the thousands of sharp green buds piercing though the brown.
On days when I miss the ocean, I go sit on a mountain top, close my eyes and just listen to the wind making waves in the tops of the trees.
Words & Photos by Lydia
