Soft oranges and pinks and reds,
And I looked down on the great wide plateau
Painted in tans and browns and rusts.
Where land met sky and sky became land
Remained a mystery, bathed in lavender,
For here there are no jagged lines
Of rock and snow and mountain peaks
To separate earth from atmosphere.
I do not belong here, I remind myself,
I miss winter's stinging embrace.
But here I sit, and I find myself
Wishing that I could stay.
Pools of molten sunlight shine,
Reflecting morning's glow,
But if they're lakes or merely clouds,
I have no way to know.
The mountains call; they beckon me,
As if welcoming me home.
Yet I feel lost, up in this sky,
Where something feels so wrong.
The world was ringed by a halo of gold,
Wrought by Sol's great hands.
It followed as I travelled west,
Freezing me in time.
If I could stay, just one more moment,
I'd fly back in a breath,
But time ran, and home called,
And such it is that I sit here
As your plateau drops away.
