Army of Knitters

Grand Canyon

Golden walls, with lavender hues, shades of pink and smoky blues. Rainbows of stone, dance in fading light, lengthening shadows, with the approach of night.

Distant howls echo, in black skies, piercing the silence, with lonely cries. Into the depths of the purple abyss, surrounded by towering crimson cliffs.

Showers of turquoise, bathe ancient walls, sculpting new images as water falls. Bright Angel Point, in creations glory, from the beginning, knew the story, of a piece of untamed land, how it succumbed to nature’s hand.

Watchtowers rose from the silent earth, each new creation, celebrating its birth. Below an air of altered shade, a new foundation of world was made. A brush in hand, the painter can see, the miracle of nature and all it can be.

Poem by Lisa A. Williams
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