Over the Hill

Anticipation builds as you climb the hill and near the crest or travel the road that comes to a bend. You could come this way a dozen times and you never lose the sense of magic at what lies around the corner or over the hill. It is as ingrained in our spirit as the breath of life itself. We are meant to explore, discover and ponder this Universe we were given. We are all adventurers, though some of us have fallen asleep in the field. Comfy we’ve become that we are more like a cat in a sunny window, even when the sun has diminished and the earth has grown cold.

Wake up, wake up, you sleepy head! Do not linger in this spot for too long. There is more of Magellan in your belly than the sitting hen, you oft convince yourself you’ve become. Listen closely. Do you not hear it? The trail calls just over the hill. Just over the hill and around the next bend.


No witch waiting on Hansel and Gretel. No sickness or evil lurking in the dark of the wood. Only a bouquet of light awaiting my arrival. So delighted I’d worn my best flannel.


Unknown source or origin

Unknown source or origin

Chips of concrete
Rock falling and plumes of dust
I look, an old fresco
Rich colors, now fading, cracks and missing pieces
Empty spots appear and within them – light
Iridescent, pulsating, alive

Pick in hand I hack
Tear at the image
Trails of rubble

I am not Gretel

I will not
Be following this
Trail back to anything
I once was

Step back
How I’ve hungered for her
Glowing like the midnight sun