Search the stream beds for diamonds and gold
Risk life and limb in frigid torrents
Wash pans of played out gravel
Time and time again
It's the unfortunate way and means
For survival in a cruel world
Forever consuming our precious time
In the never ending search for the hills of El Dorado
But once in a while we put down the gold pans
And exchange them for ones of nourishment
We leave the rivers to run their own course for a while
Letting the sluices run dry in the sun
And we journey above the hills of gold
Where the wealth giving mountain streams trickle
In a softer flow under pillows of ice
Quieting the mind in its slow embrace
Shrugging off reasoning for constant assurances
We settle down to the simple things
Good food, good company
Tall tales and short stories
And revel in the comforts of the campfire
Smoked pheasant and homemade sausage
Baked bannock and warmed tortillas
Followed the next morning
By potatoes and more sausage
With newly plucked eggs
Thick bacon and coffee
Topped off with cinnamon rolls
Fresh from the camp ovens
Lunch being skipped as the breakfast held us over
Until the night's feast of tri-tips and more bannock
Mashed potatoes with beef stew and stroganoff
And peach cobbler done up nice and juicy
It's these golden moments in life
That aren't within the sluices below
Can't be plucked from the swift flowing streams
Nor mined from the hillsides
But sometimes they're found
In deep running veins
Exposed to the mountain sunlight
Above the hills of El Dorado
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