Behold, it is Green Mountain:
Gloriously verdant guardian of Lakewood, Colorado, the sprawling summit is here shown all afire in the light of the setting sun, framed above by a receding fleet of steel-blue and smoky-gray clouds, and below by a slice of I-470 speckled with miniature cars and trucks of every conceivable color.
Dare I attempt to further describe such vivid beauty?
I fear my words will fail to do this powerful image justice.
And yet I continue, unable to resist the temptation of painting a picture of one of the Front Range's finest, nestled impressively there next to a patchwork quilt of golden fields, and scrambly salad-like swatches of scrubs and brushes, and maroon-roofed townhouses.
A mountain so unbelievably green, no name could do it justice save the one that immediately comes to mind upon first sight, springs to the tip of the tongue, and makes that magical switch from something simply imagined to that which is eternally uttered—a word wafting off through the air, carried as if in whorls of incense scented by the middlemost strand of a rainbow, to touch upon the ears of any and all who are lucky enough to be in the vicinity.
Green.
No greater honor than to behold this wondrous natural attraction in real life, in person, and in full color—as the gods intended.
And no greater crime than to edit its appearance in any way that detracts from its standout majesty.
Hear me now, all ye who have reason to listen:
Green Mountain shall not be made #monomad.
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7-22-21. Congratulations, you just survived my entry to today's #monomad challenge. Not sure if I did that correctly. Please advise.