Silver Brushstrokes

 Silver Brushstrokes

Branches stretch reaching out

 With crooked arms twisted fingers

Fearful shadows linger not  

The forest begins it’s nightly moves


The western twilight fades 

Into misty-smooth serenity

The breath of God becomes the frost

That  performs its secret ministry


Frosted trees form crystal archways 

Grasses form crystal pendants 

 God with silver brush-strokes

Paints the scenic stillness 


C. S. Craig 

November 22,  2019

Flashbacks, Inspiration, and Imagination.


Memories are shadow images of the past.  Perhaps I can share with you, yesteryear in various flickering, flashbacks; cherishable memory moments and wild imaginings. 


 Let your imagination paint its own portrait.


 Checking out the awesome mountain trails, I followed other footsteps into the great unknown. Soon, I came to meadows resting on forest floors, covered with dazzling flowers in bloom. Then, walking on the pathways, and looking up, the top of the hill seemed to end in the dark blue sky, and I was so anxious to see what was on the other side. I am destined, I thought to live in these Rocky Mountains.  

It was our first family vacation, in 1955, and I was fourteen. We drove to Denver, Colorado,  and west into the majestic rockies. My life has never been the same. The mountains have never stopped calling to me.  


For me, time has not lessened the beauty, the sounds, and the smell, of  the beautiful rocky mountains of Colorado. The mountains became my endless yearning – a mysterious  ‘call of the wild’ that creates in me an insatiable desire. 


There was a divide at the head of the stream that ran down into a land of timber and more streams. Trout  in open pools. Chipmunks and rabbits galore, squirrels chattering and scurrying all about. Birds of every color chirping and singing. The eagle soaring  above, appears to pass through the sun on its endless flight.


I have always imagined that secrecy lies hidden in the mountains.  Mystery is around the next bend in the path, and over the next hill, and I must search it out.  Oh, I can’t wait, I thought as I anxiously and tirelessly, moved on ward. 


The valleys run deep, the mountains high;  the wind whistles its own tune through pine and spruce trees;  and the mountains calling me deeper, quietly – a mysterious silence and I am always yearning to know what is ahead..


Finally, I reached the top of the mountain.  The vast endless horizon, so visible from the rugged cliffs that overlook the canyons below, shouted to me with all its splendor.  It is scenery like this that causes me to appreciate my creator God. 


God is calling me, I thought to the mysteries of life waiting for me in these wonderful mountains, and someday I want to move here and own a mountain.


 In awe, I felt  compelled to drop to my soul-knees with Thanksgiving and praise.   God created the mountains so we could truly appreciate Him more.  


Then as I rested, I noted the earth turning and shadows in the forest slowly passed, then disappeared among other shadows.  Suddenly, a ptarmigan leaped from its hiding place with wings unfolding and flapping across the valley and into the limitless sky.  


Over in the clearing stands a large bull moose.. Huge and fierce looking,  it stood maybe six or even seven feet at the shoulder and it was probably three-hundredweight more than a ton.  

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