Looking to the peak
In the snows of fourteen thousand feet.
We stood looking back
On the last turn before the trail
Dropped into the sheltered canyon.

Strong blowing wind and 
A banner of snow riding the high currents
Stood out from the heights
Against the blue depth of sky.

As we turned to the canyons
One twisted tree growing on the edge
Marking the last turn,
Still stands in my mind
Bent to the wind
Anchored in living rock.

Thin cold air that met us on the mountain
Wind so pure and strong
Had cut through our thoughts
Knife edged and clean.

Below us the desert
A few pines and rocks
Then the great drop to Death Valley
And vastness.

Every muscle ached with climbing
Our minds stretched, dazed with open distance
And the great summit we now left behind
Yet we were changed as we took with us
Something of the mountain stillness
To our comfort on the valley loor.