Poetry

If you look from nearby at a mountain
the peaks are hard and grey
but still it is as if the rough rocks hold a naked power
and you see the green plantation at the foot of it,
eagles that turn up high and suddenly decent
and when you look still near at such a place
then you see small animals clinging to rocks
and everything about you is overgrown and green
but from too near you lose the whole
that from a distance is picture perfect
and you do not see the peaks gleaming white against the sky,
how shadows play with the slopes
that now and then disappears in clouds of fog
and all of these things bring me back to the Creator.