Oh thou wandering pilgrim, do not dally
For Fate embraces the dreamer and the hands of Mortals.
From the floor of the Valley, Our mountains exude potential.
The heady exuberance of youth; clad in greens, petals and hopes,
Born on the backs of the sun, the water and sweat.
Foundations must be laid, a town christened.
Aspirations to be better than where we were:
Not a set of ideals but a goal. To be more ...
More than a hill, a slope, a run, a destination.
Autumn's colors remind us of our near-distant past
And the whisperings of all the glory forthcoming.
A generations folly or World Class design?
Excavations, bars, hotels, restaurants,
Tables, cups and Bowls,
High-speed chairlifts and shaped skis.
Follow like Man's flight into Space,
Or the falling of red and yellow leaves or Towers.
Winter's depth arrives full of sound and fury and hushed promises.
The descent of a thousand, thousand flakes,
Land with the hopefulness of a thousand birthdays or a thousand prayers.
A gasp of clean, crisp mountain air, a Valley resplendent, the hum of Nature and machines, a chatty brook, a home.
Spring reveals the serendipity of choice
And the happenstance of a new generation.