I Looked Up

Contemplative ... that's where I've found myself lately. In that space between wonder and concern; contentment and restlessness. Not unhappy, just ... thinking, and wondering what's going on. And what's next.

This piece is, for lack of a better term, contemplative. I wrote it while on a trip to Colorado recently. If you get it, you get it. And if you care, you care.

I looked up, and I saw the sky.

But not just any sky.

It was the bluest, brightest, most beautiful sky I’d ever seen.

And under that sky, I saw mountains.

Powerful, stoic, and majestic, holding endless, untold stories.

Mountains one sees only in movies or paintings.

And below those mountains, I saw trees, tall and strong.

Reaching farther than the eye could see; playing music with the wind, soft, beautiful music.

And under those trees, I saw wildlife.

Elk and moose, prairie dog and squirrel, coyote and mountain lion, and birds of all sizes and colors, living off the land; working relentlessly to thrive and survive, against predators known and unknown.

Then, I looked up again, and I saw the trees,

And I saw that they, too, were fighting to thrive and survive, to maintain their root systems and grab what they needed from the air and sun.

And so were the mountains that anchored the deep massive, roots of those trees.

And then, I again looked to the sky, and I saw it, too, was fighting to thrive and survive.

Just like the mountains, and the trees, and the wildlife, and the humans below it, against all predators known and unknown.

And it made me sad.

So, I took a breath, a deep hopeful breath. And as I exhaled, I thought to myself, “We can’t lose this … any of this.”

© 2026 David R. Haznaw