From the hill-top, I can see everything:
rocky outcrops, stone wall-divided fields,
impatient streams eager to join mother river in the valley.
I graciously declare the scene satisfactory.

When I get home, it is nearing time for the evening meal.
Ruth is making apple pie, Maeve is talking politics (again!).
The grandchildren are running from room to room.

Shush, Maeve; listen to the earth breathe.
Don't fuss, Ruth — I'm just pleasantly tired.

Contentment, like an affectionate pet, is nuzzling into me.