Beneath an Old Lodgepole Pine

Beneath an old lodgepole pine I sit
above the lake on speckled granite.
A small gray bird, its head black with white stripes,
lands a yard away, and hops closer.
I've climbed over these mountains,
shuffled through what's left of winter's snowpack.
I've heard the thundering echo of the cascading streams,
and felt their energy within me.
But for now, I am still. For now, I am at peace.
And the peace of God is near.

Note: my digital camera is broken; I've not yet figured out how to rotate pictures with the temporary camera & photo disk I used this week. So, just tile your head. Thanks.