Ninety One Hundred

Ninety One Hundred

Ninety One Hundred

Up at this elevation
something
catches
in your throat

The scent of pine,
of campfires,
long in your memories

The golden hour,
shining,
on the green rolling summits,
rocky peaks, and
the aspens glow,
with their small
yellow-green of rebirth.

Deep breath… catch.

Seeking oxygen.

Fighting back tears.

Tears of seventeen years gone by
and you just smiled at me
and made me remember.

Hiking sticks and walks to the ranger led campfires of my youth
Junior Ranger badges and pranks
Damp wood steps and hemlock

My grandparents visit me in the mountains.

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