I like to look uphill
A set of steps that climbs the
Neighbor’s bank
Brings back to mind
My other view that
Sold
My farmhouse
In the back
Where apples grew
And gentle hill rose up
To ultimately meet with sky
Where old and teetering
Granite wall strolled by
Where flags of white would
Leap
And disappear
And rows of wild turkeys
Tracked and doubled back
And tallest pines were towers
To the rook
And beeches shook
Like castanets upon the breeze
That blew an airy song across my hill
And hawks soared high
Surveying with a glittering eye
Where in the spring the wild violets splashed
An errant path and
Blued the grass
And cottage roses rung
A wreath around the boulders
Much too heavy to have joined the wall
But gracefully
Cascaded down in waterfall of stone
As summer droned with
Dragonflies
Lassoing lazy
Hazy afternoons
And evening sparked with fireflies
Encircling the glowing dark
In constellations on the hill
Until the morning bloomed
In nets of finest lace
Where spiders caught the tiny stars of dew
And every fall
The oak trees spread their giant
Parasols of gold
And squirrels raced up and down the bark
With fat cheeks filled
To beat the cold
And when the winter lay like eiderdown
The dainty deer steps danced
And looped around
And foxes like a copper streak
Ran quick across the snow
With someplace warm to go
And north wind crooned
In soulful sighs
And long goodbyes
Beneath the chilly moon
I miss it all
I like to think it misses me
The owl who cast his old man shadow
On the hill
And cooed his vespers solemnly
I hear him still…
Sara Mathews November 2015
