There are melodies in these hills.
They float through the portal,
an echo out of the canyon
in the far off mountains.
Or maybe it’s the whisper
and the ripple of the tall grasses
as the mist swirls over the fields.
Or the hum of a violin
in the high - roofed barn -
not the strings themselves, but rather
the way the notes play and tumble
in the peaked ceiling
and the way they leak from the windows
to dance in the deepening sunset.
Nov 16, 2020
Nov 16, 2020 at 11:51 PM UTC
There are melodies in these hills.
They float through the portal,
an echo out of the canyon
in the far off mountains.
Or maybe it’s the whisper
and the ripple of the tall grasses
as the mist swirls over the fields.
Or the hum of a violin
in the high - roofed barn -
not the strings themselves, but rather
the way the notes play and tumble
in the peaked ceiling
and the way they leak from the windows
to dance in the deepening sunset.