Passing Dream

There is a place, just up this trail,
very near the snow-fed stream,
a jagged break in the mountain's face
where I go to catch a dream.

They ride the currents of a playful wind
that sweeps down from the rugged peak
and there I wait, alert to the chance,
that I might hear one speak,

for I am a child of these ancient stones,
birthed by the canyons and trees,
brother and sister to the mountain lion
related to all I see.

This is my home, the source of my strength,
away from life's hollow schemes,
where I can rest in the mountain's embrace
and catch a passing dream.