a calm, sweet mist crawls over the bay as we catch one last glimpse of a land so magical.
mere days, mere hours seems hardly enough to grasp even a slice of this heaven.
yet, somehow I manage to grasp but just a little.
the lure is in the land, with its endless team of snow-packed peaks.
peaks glimmering in the brilliant sun, yet shrouded in the mystery of a rainy fog.
this same land so suddenly turns to a boggy sponge sloping down the terrain.
and home to creatures so magnificent; their eyes seem to hold an enigmatic wisdom.
the lure is in the sea, lapping quietly in and out with the coastal tides.
it is murky and dangerous; it is brilliant green and crisp.
cold and furious, yet soothing and quiet,
it is that deep reflection showing but the tiniest glimpse of the world below.
the lure is in the air, clean and crisp.
it will sudden your breath; it will soothe your tired soul.
among it glides the regal bird, scoping out the world below.
he knows this space is his and his to own.
the lure is in the people. People who work and toil and laugh and LOVE.
people who embrace fear and unknowns.
people who have seen and know a glimmer of the mystery.
people who know something that not many else can claim to know.
the lure of the wild. the lure of beauty. so pure. so true.