The green leaves guide my path on front of the Great Mountain,
clear blue water shimmers before my wrinkled and gnarled fingers.
I tie a knot, set my footing on the small stones of yesteryear
and reach back and let fly.
The mighty hawk is overhead, circling with predatory purpose as I keep a watchful on the line as a breeze passes by.
A squirrel comes by to chat, plays for a moment, then disappears back into the forest.
The clouds become time, ticking away the hours as my skin becomes a shiny apple.
The Uinta mountains are now a part of the countdown.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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