I know a ridge where quiet reigns

And aspen's dappled shade

Weaves a maze of muted lanes

Where deer browse unafraid

It is a mountain place where wind

Blows softly clean and sweet,

And every sound comes moccasined

On quiet stepping feet

I know a ridge where aspens grow

Slim trunks as white as chalk;

A little world where no wheels go

And only wild things walk.