The Valley Below

From dark forest green to azure blue the scene lifts to glistening white snow, Mt. Hood juts there to break the distant view.

The valley floor some thousand feet below, it's pastoral sight splayed with shades and hues, red roofed barns but a dot on horizon view, wisps of white-grey smoke from chimneys rise to kiss the clouds, and look, there, over there, just to the south an eagle flies in majestic soar, catching currents swirling in the air.

Listen quietly and hear the roar of the Sandy amplified from mountain wall, giving orchestral sound to this serenity view. A soft whispering breeze now clears the scene carrying the vibrant smells of forest's clean, vanilla root clinging in the air.

As evening descends, sunlight blinking through gigantic clouds, laying creeping shadows over river bed below, the eagle cries to the nest announcing returning flight, fledglings to be fed. The silent sounds of night fall begin their chant, the moon now glowing, all is still, sleep has come to the valley floor, the darken scene bathe in quietness till the dawn comes to awaken the view.

Star light brings a glimmer pale to the whole of the bluff, not much to view but the shimmering, shining tops of forest trees, the sparkle of river rapids blinking in night light capturing the eye, bringing peaceful relief from day's toils to weary souls.

Suddenly the sky is brilliantly, boldly awakened with flashing white light, the noise a deafening thunderous roar, a strike here, and one there, sets a tree alite, a lone candle aglow on the darken floor below, the air afoul with electric smell.

With the hand of fate, the blaze is stemmed rain now falling from the darken clouds, quietness again falls over all, the eagle settles on nest, the newly hatched safe from hurt, the valley below free of harm.

Sunrise comes in a showy display, the rays slowly cross mountain top to valley floor, orange and yellow colors washing over all, the wakening sounds of forest creatures bugles dawns early call, the bark of the mother coyote gathering young to hollowed lair, the blue jay in airy flight piping a mating call, and the dew rising off forest floor sending wavy vapors into the skies,these signal a new day for all.

In the distant scene the sun now blinds the view, Hood outlined with fiery glow, her white snows dancing red, yellow and orange in the new dawn's day, those gigantic big, bellowy, beautiful clouds forming just to the northwest, will filter the dazzling rays returning sight from bluff to valley floor below, the clockwork cycle having played it's measured tempo, the view from the bluff is once again... now whole.

T.Condon May 6, 1998(Rev.5/03)