The Blonde Quill

Driving with the windows down

Passing by small towns

Grazing cows

And horses running wild

In fields of swaying grasses.

The scent of sweet pine

And dust fills my senses

Walking about on the

Many trails found for wandering

Among the beautiful unseen places

And quiet spaces

Where nature thrives.

Birds sing symphonies above

As they soar overhead in

The bluest sky you’ll ever see

With mountain majesties

Of course

Like a backdrop

Painted by the Creator Himself.

I always run back to this place

That calls to the wildness in my spirit

Where I can be free

Like the wind that blows

Across the peaks

And whispers between the trees.

Colorado is unlike any other

And I’m proud to call it

Home.