A slow country ride
rocks us from crest to crest
then one more next
the highest yet
finds us above
a lowest valley deep
the feel of ideal beauty
a van Gogh swirling twilight
our small gasps
a brief touch of hands
to witness rolling vista upon vista
translucent Smoky Mountain mist
soft veils shimmer the glow’s last sun
a beckon to follow on
a temptation
but we need
to go back
in the other direction
we have
to go back
to the way we came
Lanning Lee 