after evening chores, late winter

Sun setting red washing the mountain's usual winter shades of brown, and grey, and green so dark it seems black, with glowing red ember red glow, the ridges and hollers, the crinkles and creases, the backbones and furrows brought forth in high relief.  The whole mountain range marches away but I head to one gap and then don't go there, turning before, entering into my very own mountain.  Other people can rest their eyes on my mountain but I rest my bones here.