Brief Moments with the Wind
Just before daybreak
I woke next to Wilson,
Shandoka to our older friends.
A flame danced with an autumn wind
as they tried to kiss my skin.
Pink skies up above
spoke of what’s to come.
Aspens swayed
as their leaves
applauded in the breeze.
The campsite overlooked Telluride’s
towering peaks
and flowing valleys,
married by the wandering wind.
As the horizon warmed,
the morning canvas took shape.
Gently, the sun bathed all in light.
Slowly, shadows retreated,
restored to color and life.
Snowcaps glistened,
singing of a renewed day.
Through it all,
the canvas never stayed the same—
always changing,
evolving,
growing.
Some changes could be seen within seconds,
while others were slower,
hidden but present.
From the flame in front of me
to the growing mountains,
the deepening valleys—
the day aged in plain sight.
The same canvas will be painted again tomorrow,
and the next.
Similar in scope,
yet different in growth.
As the sun continued
its daily flight,
the trees and I
were one day older—
one day less to wake.
If that is my price,
I’d gladly pay again
for those brief moments
with the wind.
- william goynes