The darkness excepts the awakening of a new day over the eastern rim of the valley floor.
The distant highlands sculpted by nature's wind and ancient ice accepts this sun's morning's gift of bright glistening golden crowns along their uppermost edges, as the lower masses blanket themselves in shades of soft blue mist.
Sheared cliffs stand guard as sentries protecting all that lives on the valley floor. A meadow bounded by an emerald green forest that has given perch to the midnight stars for a thousand years awaits the first ray of warmth upon its branches where a mountain jay trumpets with joy.
Given this moment of tranquility, my soul returns to its resting place, concealed by time, laid to rest by my brothers of the Miwoks of the Yosemite: my valley for evermore.