Sunday morning we drove through some of the most pristine countryside I have ever seen. The villages nestled against the mountains, mother earth the care taker, nurturing all. The peaks were changing as autumn became winter, colored foliage replaced by bright white, bleaching the countryside. Houses spilled geraniums out of window boxes, reds and pinks restating the richness and connections of the earth.
The glacial rivers, veins of ice blue, ran through the valleys too, washing and singing along our route. We played classical music and saw the echo in the landscape. The mountains were sopranos, carrying the melody, always attracting our attention, soaring above. The rivers carried the bass line, grounding the symphony in luscious rich sound. As a former mezzo soprano, I have a special connection with the trees, who fill in the background, adding depth to the melody. The churches and villages offered tenor, sometimes being the counterpoint, but often content to blend and connect. Before, behind, beside, the music was all around us, living, breathing mother nature in her glory.
The glacial rivers, veins of ice blue, ran through the valleys too, washing and singing along our route. We played classical music and saw the echo in the landscape. The mountains were sopranos, carrying the melody, always attracting our attention, soaring above. The rivers carried the bass line, grounding the symphony in luscious rich sound. As a former mezzo soprano, I have a special connection with the trees, who fill in the background, adding depth to the melody. The churches and villages offered tenor, sometimes being the counterpoint, but often content to blend and connect. Before, behind, beside, the music was all around us, living, breathing mother nature in her glory.
1 comment:
this description is entirely luscious...patty, you should consider writing a novel! your words transported me to the spot!
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