Beauty

It rumbles.

Up over the hills

in violent grey

with fingers of light

and unbridled color.

It sings.

The song of spring

the call of rebirth

howling at moon

a plea for coupling.

It booms.

Waves of power

crashing ashore

gifts of treasures

traded for earth.

It roars.

Declares opposition

sleek muscles slide

under bright hide

claws sliding free.

It flows.

A river of russet

hues etched in stone

immortal, eternal

breathtaking scar.

It ripples.

At play with the light

on miniscule waves

as life teems below

in ancient vibrancy.

It is here, it is there

not in the eye of the beholder

but the eye that beholds.