The beauty of the mountain pass,

The cradle of God’s hand,

And swirling of the mountain mist,

Brings forth this fertile land.

And brown eyed children come to see,

We travelers from far away,

Who set up home for just one night,

And disappear the following day.

And yet we aren’t so different,

From the curious babes who stare,

For I am filled with wonder,

As I breathe this mountain air.

And I can be a child again,

In a place such as this.

The mountains stir my very soul,

Just as my mother’s kiss.

And as a child I can feel so close,

To dead parents whose love never ends.

For they are smiling as they watch,

Me playing outside with my friends…

May 2008 written in Peru after our soccer match w/ the locals in the mountains…11,500ft!

I miss you.

Though it dulls each passing day,

Unless I think of a time

You hadn’t gone away.

I feel you

And that moment, just as before,

Shrouds me with a pain of loss

That I just cannot ignore.

And I cry for you

So my tears will finally clear

This burning ache in my soul

That tells me you aren’t here.

Mother’s Day poem (written 2 yrs after her death)

So here it is again, Mother’s Day,

And my heart controls my head,

I allow myself to miss you,

Although, in truth, you aren’t dead.

My heart is pumping your blood,

In the mirror I see your face,

My sheets are tucked in your way,

The realities death can’t erase.

I cry to be able to call you,

I feel rage when I remember how you died,

But I accept fate with the grace you gave me,

For I am blessed with your strength inside.

And I choose to think of all that was good,

And the love that we lived for each other,

Each day I hope that I would make you proud,

The loveliest woman who ever lived, my mother.

FOR MY TEACHER, HUBERT ROHRER... With Love, Julia

I hope you know that I am doing things your way, 

Much that I teach came straight from you. 

"You're losing the gait!" often I hear myself say,

In this case I know what you'd do.

But many times still I wish I could ask you,

"Was this right?  Did I go the right way?" 

So I think back about all the things I learned too,

And I thank you because my decision was okay.

You aren't around anymore to guide me. 

A great teacher, you will never really die.

In my own teaching you have immortality. 

So in my heart I don't have to say good-bye.

Hubert died in 1995... opening day of Atlanta Olympics. 

(shown here teaching Maureen Jones & Nancy Leon at Dahleen Farm in 1994)