Crisp chill air layered by a blanket of blue.
Visions of laurel landscapes
dance in the recesses of my mind.
An un-restrainable urge to escape.
To answer the call of the distant blue-green mountains,
resplendent in the colors of the turning leaves.
A ride down silent lanes through emerald fields
studded with tall spires of fall foliage.
The misty mountain shimmer emerging between.
Massive ridges of ancient up-thrust rock.
Weathered and worn by time, wind and rain.
Softened by a blanket of green, turned golden-red.
Rolling hills giving way to mountain slopes.
Colors growing in intensity with each rising twist of roadway,
up a water carved passageway to touch the sky.
Road-dancing through the fall splendor
The dark surface of the rushing mountain carver
glimmers through the changing tree-hues.
Riding the skyline, in a place of transition
between heaven and earth,
where a man may tarry only a moment before descending.
For this is a place reserved for the Gods.
A place of Gaea, her magic, her wood lore and wonder.
A place of reverence and worship and wishing.
Wind swept vistas widen below, windows to the soul,
and the works of man that lay scattered below me
in the green-gold valleys, carved through the high rock.
A skyway passage revisited, time and time again.
Forever the great renewer and re-enchanter
of the heart and soul of a rider.
A place of transition, in transition;
The golden reward for the season past.
Fall returns and the forest prepares for sleep.
