A wooded area slopes off to the side
I can feel the age of the treesThey're aware of me,
But don't seem to mind
Their quiet is loosely enclosed
Allowing the ins and outs of blue birds and time
Squirrels skitter and jump from oak to birch
Cheering the sense of reverence
Lightening it's heart with an offbeat dance,
Like children in a too-formal church.
I'm aware of the apple orchard growing around my back
The fruit would only fill half my hand if I were to grasp it now
But patches blushing red hint at the sweetness to come
A haze veils the hillside before me
Cows settle under the trees, huddling in the shade
As if they had forgotten their sunscreen
Their tails fanning pests away
I love this hill
It reminds me of my Father
But he wouldn't be sitting still on this bench like me
He would be running or riding or reiterating his point.
He thinks best when he moves--when he labours to breathe
I feel him close
Spotting squirrels and picking apples
Memories and anticipation bring him home
And as I watch the road he loves to travel
I find myself deeply grateful
Though sometimes we wrestle, we often disagree
He loves me enough to fight for me
That is comfort for today
Sacred shade for the heat of the day
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