Since I left, I’ve lingered over your pictures and felt the yearning to be back in your fullness; they do not do justice to your grace. I find myself stumbling over words, none able to express my feeling or indeed, captivate the essence of your glory.
I considered some feeble attempt at poetic prose or a version of polished vernacular like a sage of dexterity, but in honesty, pretentious words cannot convey your version of truth. The minstrel in the mountain speaks silently and from the heart.
I’ve witnessed the giant that is carved inside the rock looking out to a horizon that bleeds into the vast sky; I’ve studied the ample, closed fist that has been scarred by ages and yet remains steadfast and ready to protect. For the first time, I understand the organic power held in that silence.
You took my breath away and yet allowed me to breathe again. Your natural spirit filled my soul with something bewitching and your colour freed me. I am well once more; instantly cleansed from the artificial and released from the foothold of fabrication that blinds us all. Now I can see and my senses awaken bringing forth an emotion I fear to reveal. I am devastated by melancholy elation.
Ergo, I am ill equipped to give voice to you. I am simple and small by comparison and you leave me subservient in your hold. A part of my heart will be forever yours and may I beg to return and once again be nestled in your comforting magnificence.