Pike’s Peak looms over Colorado Springs,
an Olympus wreathed in dawn light and cloud.
In the juniper, an unknown bird sings;
though red squirrel scampered, only tail showed
to my wondering and curious eye.
So many strange plants unknown, and trees new ,
and just the common gray dove climbs the sky
as a familiar shade on open blue.
Great boxy mesas of human design
stand as houses of competition’s gods,
ordered by curve, by triangle and line,
to block out the sight of Gaia’s mere clods
except when Zen views of mountain afire
wakes the dawn heart to grace’s desire.

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