The tinkle of water settles lightly on the ears,
The smell of cut grass fill’s every breath
A Raven calls high in the hills,
Its harsh voice ruptures the still summer day.
Lying on a mattress of meadow grass,
Puff ball clouds take form in my imagination,
Faces, people shapes come and go.
To be replace with the new.
The warmth of mother earth on my back,
Insects and spiders explore this mountain of man.
Flies hover and land to feed on body salts,
I lay there in this film of life.
Shadow’s and light play tag on the hillsides.
To the music of a songbird choir.
My mind at peace,
In the lap of mother earth.