The crackle of a distant creek

In the midst of the blue morning mountains

In a way makes the pine needles greener,

And the sunshine warmer.

Oh, into the mountains I run.

The mountain jay’s wings flutter softly over head,

Gliding from branch to branch,

Their voices singing a sweet, smooth tune,

Like honey to the ears.

Oh, into the mountains I run.

The prominent bugle of an elk

Carries with it the snapping of tree branches

And the crackling of pine needles beneath his feet,

Along with the heavy puffing of his breath.

Oh, into the mountains I run.

The lake of glass

So smooth is the surface,

Sits surrounded by thickets of willows

While ducks float in the bone-chilling water.

Oh, into the mountains I run.