North Conway The road is winding and narrow as we ascend,
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.