Winter In The High Country Poem by David Welch

The air so cold it feels inert,
briskness that makes the mind alert,
a bluebird sky, a crystal day,
the sun chases some chill away.
New snow half-way up to my knees,
wells and hollows around the trees,
stunted forest, tiny but old,
gnarled by winds and endless cold,
the rhyme ice makes a heavy load,
spruce grouse is flitting too and fro,
bed rock sheened in veneers of ice,
ledges peak out to offer sight
to peaks where so few men have trod,
you stare out like an ancient god.
I see why some folks hike for this,
lucky, this peak has a chairlift.