The Edge of the Furthest Mountain
**At the Edge of the Furthest Mountain**

At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Where earth and sky converge in whispers,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
Time slows, a gentle pulse in twilight's grasp.

Beyond the edge of the scented meadow,
A symphony of blooms and breezes play,
I can see the hues painted by the setting sun,
A canvas wide, where dreams and colors blend.

Here, the world breathes in quiet splendor,
A palette of pastels and amber glow,
The mountains stand like sentinels, wise and ancient,
Their peaks brushed with the day's last kiss of light.

In the valley, shadows stretch and yawn,
Cradled by the river's lullaby,
Its waters weave a tale of time and change,
A mirror to the sky's unfolding grace.

The meadow, fragrant with a thousand scents,
Lavender and thyme in the cool dusk air,
Each petal catches a glint of fading gold,
A final nod before the stars take stage.

The setting sun, a master of all hues,
Spreads its arms wide across the firmament,
A molten sphere of tangerine and blush,
Melting into the horizon’s tender hold.

Rays of pink and orange pirouette,
Across the azure stage of ending day,
They dance upon the clouds, soft and wispy,
Transforming them to feathers of firelight.

The mountains, in their majesty, reflect,
A history of sunsets past and gone,
Each crevice and each slope a testament,
To countless evenings bathed in twilight’s glow.

The river’s song grows hushed, a whispered secret,
As twilight’s veil descends with gentle hand,
The meadow’s blooms fold in their tender petals,
Awaiting the embrace of night’s cool breath.

And in this tranquil, liminal expanse,
Where day surrenders to the night’s embrace,
I stand, a witness to this grand transition,
My soul alight with nature’s fleeting grace.

The sun dips low, a promise of return,
Its final beams caress the mountain’s face,
The sky ignites in flames of fleeting wonder,
Before the stars emerge from hidden space.

Each star, a tiny beacon in the vast,
A testament to dreams both near and far,
They twinkle in the tapestry of night,
A guide to those who wander and who wonder.

The furthest mountain now a silhouette,
A guardian of secrets old and new,
Its shadow stretches long across the valley,
A silent sentinel till morning’s light.

The river’s song, now softened to a murmur,
Echoes through the valley’s gentle slope,
It winds its way through darkness, calm and patient,
A thread of life beneath the stars’ soft gaze.

In the meadow, whispers of the night,
Rise with the moon, a silvery glow,
Each blade of grass a testament to stillness,
A breath of peace in evening’s cool embrace.

The setting sun has painted all with care,
A masterpiece of nature’s grand design,
And as I stand amidst this twilight splendor,
I feel the pulse of earth and sky align.

At the edge of the furthest mountain,
Where dreams and reality entwine,
I find a place where time itself stands still,
A moment caught in nature’s gentle rhyme.

Between the valley and the lazy river,
Beyond the edge of the scented meadow’s span,
I see the hues, the promise of tomorrow,
A sunset’s kiss upon this quiet land.

And in this space, this sacred, fleeting moment,
I find a piece of what it means to be,
A witness to the world’s eternal beauty,
A soul at peace, embraced by nature’s plea.

At the edge of the furthest mountain,
I stand, my heart in awe of what’s begun,
Between the valley and the lazy river,
I see the hues painted by the setting sun.