A friend from church, George Guest, is a bit of a folksong writer. His style can be somewhat unconventional at times, but I like it. His lyrics are always straight from the heart and his mellow, unhurried guitar pickin' can set the troubled mind at ease.
Below are some lyrics from my current favorite of his songs. I have been drinking it in as I stand at my little kitchen window, doing the dishes and gazing out at the glorious snow-covered peaks towering above our valley.
Up on the mountains, my spirit flies.
Here is where I feel I'm the closest to God.
Up above the trees, in the clear air I see,
Here is where I'd really love to, love to be.
But it's down in the valleys where I really start to grow.
You don't see gardens growin' in the sky;
And you never plant vineyards up a mountainside,
And you don't raise any wheat where eagles fly.