Morning sunshine pours in – tainted
by the ever-glaring city lights;
Soon, in a bus – voices speak of
excitement and delight.
The dusty olives and browns
give way to green as
hills appear –
swaying as one in the raw winter wind.
Climbing up the mountain,
Up into the clouds.
Peaks seem high above us –
As far-off as ever.
Seen from far below,
the crest reaches out into the sky,
crowned by silvery wisps of clouds, shining
with the Sun’s light.
Soon far below us –
the sights we left behind:
bags and buses and the general bustle
of all our lives.