Terminal B, Gate 20.

The Denver Airport, crowded to the brim,

Smelled putrid of sweat and food.

Pieces of gum stuck to walls,

And tissues tossed on the ground.

A dense haze of smog shrouded Colorado.

 It seemed to have spilled over the waiting area,

 so we double masked our faces.

The trip to our next flight

Barely passed any tree in sight.

Finally landing  in Yellowstone,

We were surrounded by 

The pines, as green as emeralds.

The sky, as blue as a sapphire. 

Strolling through the alpine forests,

We inhaled pristine air, so minty and fresh.

 Pausing every now and then, 

To behold natural wonders.

A yellow flowerfield, burst with joy,

Enveloped us  in its aroma.

 Stepping out of our car, 

A refreshing wind breezed through my hair.

The arnica, golden and bright,

Dancing with the dew,

Waving with the wind,

Greeting the colossal mountains.

 At the Mammoth hot springs,

I eagerly climbed on the wooden rails.

The cliffs, covered with salt-like mineral,

As white, chalky, and downward pointing,

As icicles from the Arctic.

Hot streams of water guzzling down

The steplike cliffs along the gushing springs.

The chromatic columns carved by the water,

Filled the air with a sulphury smell.

I would have loved to bask in the sun,

Listening to the hot springs sprinkling on the cliffs.

Unwilling to tear myself away 

   From the wonder of nature,

I lifted my heavy feet walking to the car.

On our return to the Chicago O’hare airport,

The hazy memories from Denver  returned,

As we strode through the smelly and dusty air.

Cigarette butts and discarded dross,

Filling the streets and tainting our planet.

This left me  wondering:

What if Chicago were like Yellowstone,

Verdant and serene,

Breezy and refreshing.

Maintained and protected.

Then, the splendor of the earth would embrace us once more.