Rolling hills and sprawling trees
Easily lost in expanses of green
We lose all our troubles, worries and cares
Sometimes ourselves in the frost-bitten air

The smoke from the fire rises and curls
The quick flowing stream tumbles and swirls.
The tent in the meadow, my humble abode
Like these old mountains, my problems erode

The sun sprints west as nighttime steals in
I hunker down to escape the cold wind
The fire and I swap stories and smokes
He tells me the stories of long bygone folks

When the cold is too much, I call it quits
I take a quick pull and crawl in my tent
Out here I can't feel the weight of the world
My shoulders are free, my mind is restored.