A hill,
Green with a touch of brown.
I sit at the top,
Seeing all and nothing.
The wind,
Who whispers forgotten secrets in my ear.
The birds,
Who sing melodies only they can understand.
The trees,
The silent sentinels of the shrub and grass,
Kings among kings.
The sky,
A replication of emotions,
Crying like we do, beaming when we do.
The squirrels,
Who thieve,
But give something back in return,
As if doing so in guilt.
I feel the staff,
A cold, hard comfort.
I open my eyes,
Seeing the pasture behind,
The field before me,
The wood at my left and right,
And more of the wood in the distance ahead.
I close my eyes,
Seeing everything from my mind’s eye,
And smile.