The Mountain in Winter

For the glorious imagination in nature...

I find it odd
That on the mountain in Winter
My perspective above the treeline
Remains obscured, not by trees
But fog, snow, cloud, mist
Impenetrable only by the blowing winds
Shifting currents of air
Offering but meager glimpses of the horizon
Before me

I imagine the valley
Resting, the dead-seeming brown
Of hibernating trees
And trees dying of a beetle plague
Coated, purely whitened in desolate beauty
By snow that shrouded my eyes
Yet opened my imagination

Author's Note

All comments and suggestions welcome.