High mountain rocky summits tearing away at clouds,
Have become my yearly high fortress and vast playground.
The valleys and dizzying peaks all in fresh new fall colors;
Sitting on the highest rocky ledges is where I am commonly found.

Watching trails that wind through valley heavy forest floors,
This autumn time of year florescent orange glints and glows.
Dudes on pack trains led by guides moving in and out of view,
Sitting comfortably here safely I am far above the intruding flows.

A small group appears between the valley trail and my aerie,
Three men each on his own horse riding in raucous turmoil.
Too nice a day to hunt but run a steady stream of drunken wales,
Tethering beasts directly below they carelessly fall grabbing soil.

One spots me on this ridge I claim as my own high throne,
He rifle scopes me and I directly return his rude gesture in favor.
Their disrespect for my repose and purpose of this domain,
Asleep they fall in Autumn sun as deer sneak by this I savor.

This Autumn day clearly defeating death with warming skies,
The groups wind back down the valleys leaving myself and the drunks.
Clearly I hear their every word as if whispered directly in my ear,
Napping no relief as the sun's heat hammers those drunken skunks.

They crawl back upon their horses shouting about the lack of game,
The mountain currents of air carrying sounds in yelps and roars.
Slowly and sloppy the three men go back the way they came,
On this sunny out crop of stone and height finally shed of bores.

Once again behind this carapace a lofty hidden valley belongs to me.
The sun gifting me with its heated stare warming the stones around.
I give thanks to the mountain spirits for their devine filling pleasures,
Until the sun sets in sacred reverie listening only to mountain sound.