From the Pages of Washington Irving, for my Hudson River Friends

Whoever ‘s made a voyage up the Hudson must
remember Catskill Mountains, a dismembered branch
of the great Appalachian family, I trust.
West of the river, swelling to a noble chance,
their hues and shapes are magical barometers.
When weather’s fair, they’re clothed in blue and purple dance.
They print their outlines bold on Earth’s thermometers,
against the clear and lovely, cloudless evening skies,
about to be explored by keen astronomers.
But sometimes they will gather vapors of great size,
in hoods of gray, about their summits, in the dusk;
and in the sunset’s rays, their crowns of glory rise.

 

Featured Image: “Sunset” by Frederick Edwin Church

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