Heard the woeful coo of a mourning dove. The sound resonated in our hearts And raised us up nine thousand feet above. To the Land of the Dead Tree Our journey began at the Old Cabin Crossing, a neglected remnant of days gone by. We continued on a lonely path through mysterious Dark Forest all the way up to Windy Saddle. From there we traversed prickly Cactus Pass and climbed onto Flattop Rocks. Racing daybreak, we dashed under Sunshine Arch into a high mountain meadow. There it was… The Land of the Dead Tree. Just in time, golden grasses were flickering in the morning light. Blue Volcanoes appeared hazily in the east and Bergen Peak was a stoic sentinel to the south. The Western White Mountains of the Great Divide were a spectacle. We soaked in the sun but on the shortest day of the year, rays began to vanish. As the afternoon faded into evening, we had to say goodbye. Because as you probably already know, all good things must come to an end.
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| The Western White Mountains |
