I Am Free
A rusted old truck lies buried in weeds and snow.
A trainís crossing the trestle; hear the whistle blow.
goes on Ďneath the ice in the river below.
In the meadow snow flies as wild palominos run.
As I carry firewood cold air fills my lungs.
good kind of tired when work and day is done.
winds sweep powder off the peaks and pines.
Yes, everyday is another miracle for those who can believe.
The afternoon sun casts its shadows.
Itís thirty degrees.
Frost covers the branches of the spruce and aspen trees.
Snow begins to fall, icicles form on the eves.
Staring into the fire my heart drifts off to dream.
Lying here by the fire and you are here with me.
These mountains, I am free.