In 2003 my wife’s sister and brother-in-law, Linda and Bob Warren, whom I like to call my “bonus siblings,” drove us out from Buena Vista, Colorado in their four-wheel drive vehicle into the dense San Isabel National Forest, and over Cottonwood Pass. Bob and Linda have resided in the Wet Mountain Valley (pictured above) for over twenty years and should by now become accustomed to the stunning beauty of the mountains and forests of south central Colorado. But not so. They were as enraptured as were Carolyn and I, the visitors from the flatlands.
Beholding the autumn foliage in the pass, I was inspired to pen the poem below that not only exalts in the beauty of the place but also marvels at the extravagance of a God who would create such scenes for His own pleasure. What a gift to glimpse it, too, almost incidentally.
“The mountains are fountains of men as well as of rivers, of glaciers, of fertile soil. The great poets, philosophers, prophets, able men whose thoughts and deeds have moved the world, have come down from the mountains – mountain dwellers who have grown strong there with the forest trees in Nature’s workshops.”–John Muir (1938)