Where the Eagles soar by Carol Wilson

High on the mountain where the eagles soar
I gaze down upon the distant desert floor.

A cool breeze gently flows over my face
With what could be described as a flair of grace.

The pines stand tall against the sky
Connecting to the clouds, floating so high.

Cardinals are plentiful, the sparrows are few.
Even at midday, the ground holds a dew.

Here, I’m one with nature –
So clean and sweet.
While way down below,
the desert shimmers in heat.

The mountains are cool –
And the desert is hot.
Such a contradiction –
Is it? Or not?

I spread my arms,
And close my eyes.
I step to the edge,
And soar through the skies.