Paul Tabak

My ears start to pop,

And at each bend of the highway is a glimpse of snow-topped mountains.

With coffee in hand and miles behind us,

We arrive in North Conway.

An unfinished bridge on the right, there as long as I can remember,

A horse riding stable following it,

Our favorite lodge we stay at during the night, is on our left,

Coming upon our left the beautiful White Mountains,

With an open-bench gondola lift going to the top.

Looking down from the mountain is priceless,

Getting a bird’s eye view of the tops of all the evergreen trees,

The fresh scent of balsam fir.

With a relaxing summer breeze rushing past my body,

Sounding like a little kid trying to whistle,

All I can do is gaze below in awe.