Snow Falling Morning by Kat Magendie

I'm never at a loss for words when it comes to my mountain, but sometimes you just have to be there. And since you cannot be there, I am sharing one part of my mountain walk. This little trickle of runoff you can see and hear, in the video below, during a fine morning snow, used to flow more than it does here, but we are in drought conditions and that is how it is--still beautiful.
If you could see the other short videos I took, all you would hear is wind against the trees, a bird chirping, and my breath. It is that silent here at Killian Knob. You'd also see, in between the trees, at glances here and there, development out and beyond - silent development, as it has all come to a standstill, and I cannot help but be glad. I'd be more glad if it had not been developed as it had at all, for Developers seem not to have a sense of the mountain and only of lining their pockets.

What you see and hear below, and what you cannot see and hear on the other videos, but you may have read from my posts before, is what I wish I could preserve forever. I live in fear that someone will take it away, or take more of it away than they already have. People ask, "What would you do if you had a million dollars?" and I know the answer to that: I'd begin buying up this mountain land and stop all development, preserve the mountain land. It is a dream of mine that I can never imagine happening without so much more money than I can dream of, but there are always desires and wishes and hopes.

I live in gratitude for this land, for these beautiful mountains, for the silence of a snow falling morning. I forget the fear of Developers as I walk the old logging trails, listening to the trickle of water, to the bird's call, to the sound of swaying branches, the snow crystals landing on my jacket. It is too lovely to bear. It is too beautiful to lose. I do not know how to protect it in the face of another's greed; I can only hope and dream and wish, and in the meantime, appreciate.