Another retreat poem. I banned myself from writing anything depressing, so this was all that I could come up with in those three days.
The soft caresses of the breeze
Playfully toss my hair.
The hills fall below me
And the pine trees bristle indignantly
As the breeze
Tickles their chins.
My hands grasp the pine needles,
Of the undergrowth.
And for the first time in months
I breathe deeply.
This was written on top of the largest hill in the retreat area. It was a difficult walk to get up there, but it was worth every minute of it.