woody (03/16/83)
If it weren't for the mountains, my Lord, I would suffocate here air-conditioned to death in concrete and smoke. If it weren't for the redwoods, all the sickly bald hedges would cry in the sunset aloud. If it weren't for the clouds, the poor city sky would darken and die. But it lives: for the flanks of the stone spread with lichenskin, moss in the dew; fog caught in branches and filled with the chill; the drop at the lobe of the leaf, cracked quartz in the morning, the sun in glory approaching the pure empty dawn; I breathe because mountains exist. Janet Hallock (woody) 1/25/83