You will come to a
place where the flat
fields begin to rise
and you can no longer
see what's ahead.
The hills become mountains -
the old gentle mountains
that are sometimes hiding
behind clouds and white mist.
In the winter, these
are snow covered and majestic -
in the summer, they
are green and graceful.
You must pass by
many grazing cows
looking for lunch
on your way to where I live.
Beyond the fields, you
will see stands of trees guarding
the acres, old as ancient warriors.
Signs will announce landmarks and
birthplaces and bridges.
You may hear a train whistle or
feel the rumble it leaves behind.
The daffodils will greet you, and
the tall grass will run beside you -
all the way to where I live.
~inspired by Wesley McNair
What a beautiful poem. I feel like I'm driving up to this place and am looking out my window where the fields begin to rise and the hills become mountains. I found your words powerful: majestic, graceful, guarding and rumble.
ReplyDeleteI've often tried to capture with words the picture of the land around our room that I've grown to know so well, but I can never quite find the words. This poem may be just the mentor to get me started.
Cathy