The Enterprise, White Salmon, WA., October 22, 1937, page 12

VALLEY IN THE HILLS
by Winnifred Wood Jones

My valley now is dressed in spotless white,
And trimmed with precious jewels, sparkling bright;
Surrounding hills, in winter sun's pale light,
Show clear against the skyline; and not far;

To northward, is Mt. Adams; Nought to mar;
His ermine beauty, shows, no crack or scar;
With lakes and streams icebound, no one would dream;
Of challenging King Winter's reign supreme,

But seasons change; and soon the fresh sweet smell
Of melting snow, of warm west winds that swell,
The buds; and lilting song of birds will tell
It's Spring. As if by magic all the green

Of fields and trees appears; and overnight the sheen
Of grain; red clover-top; jay's nest is seen
Lakes rising high and rivers rushing on;
Life hurries, too, to greet the summer dawn.

Long days of warmth and stillness, as the sun
Lingers on high then, the descent begun.
Broad rays of golden light, and the crimson, run
Across the sky, and tint the valley walls

To breathless beauty; Roving nightbird calls
His love. The gleaming mountaintop enthralls
The questing eye. Calm rivre lulls to rest
All life within this valley of the blest.

When autumn sharpness cleaves the morning air,
My valley takes on gorgeous hues. A flare
Of scarlet leaves whirl by; the fields are bare;
The harvest gathered in; barns full, The clear

High call of geese comes down the wind, and near
Each thicket, brilliant colored birds that fear
To tarry longer, congregate; they might
Rise with the dawn, or go in sudden flight,

I like a little valley rimmed with hills;
The splendor of a snow-capped peak, that fills
The souls; broad lovely lakes; and little rills
Of merry sunlit water, running free,

Each painted flower face, and every tree,
The trilling bird, and busy humming bee,
God-made. For some, the man-made city thrills,
I like a little valley in the hills.

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©  Jeffrey L. Elmer