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On Top of the Hill

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,

The litter

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.


About E.K.M.

Studying at university, passing the time until a publishing Talent Scout comes to pick me up and whisk me away to a world where I can be an author without having another source of income. If only.

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