Cultivars have added new energy to the columbines.
Mountain Psalm
Let me walk into the mountains
where the air is fresh and sweet,
where wind whispers through tree branches
around which creep the nectar honeysuckle and wild grape,
in the morning stillness, pure as breath from God
that moved upon the waters when earth was born;
I will bring my weary spirit and find rest.
I will walk along the hollows,
trace the finger paths of God
where He carved the rugged creek beds
and fed the soil with flowers, columbine and orchid, wild;
there He will feed this world worn child.
Let me tarry in the mountains,
listen to creation sing
lay me down upon moss carpet
beside a spring, sparkling and clear,
drink in the peaceful quiet, feel earth's healing touch.
I will linger until evening when soft mists slip through the vales,
swaddling heights with haze blue beauty
as tender twilight swells, sunlight fading,
bending low to lay a glow kiss on mountain face.
Copyright, July 11, 2016 Faye Lanham Gibson
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