Where the Pines Whisper #Poetry

There is an otherworldly silence at five thousand feet, 
even squirrels move like humbled monks 
but who is it that they don’t 
want to disturb?

There is sanctity, a holy milieu, a hundred shades of 
green and brown competing and 
a preponderance of, “This is the footstool of 
God’s throne.”

Alpine winter breathes hard across 
lichen covered stone tables like a drunkard
exclaiming heartache, tall peaks preside, looking down, 
there is no chiding or disdainful look, just 
granite wisdom with silvery 

and the eagle calls all to worship
where the pines whisper.
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