Two Bucks Too Close

Mornings like this.

The grass and the hills.

Oh, the breeze so perfect!

Reclining in the warm sunshine,

I watch some deer feeding few yards away.

And I remain still.

I watch them until they disappear around the mountain.

The soft breathing of the Mother Earth is in my ears;

While the gentle breeze that stir my hair comes heavy with the smell of growing grass.

Laying so, I look far up into the blue sky where a buzzard float on lazy wings.

If I were up there, I could perhaps see that world beyond the hills.

I am looking far away to the blue line of hills, miles and miles away.

And I wish, I was born and raised in the hills.

And then I begin wondering what that world beyond the farthest cloud was like.

So, wondering and dreaming, I ride down the trail - the trail that nobody knows how old.

My shoe drops to the floor with a thud,

Recalling the finished trail in triumph;

I now call myself the Shepherd of the hills.