These Curving Hills

Bay, M. Mair, original painting

Bay, Margaret Mair, original art

You carry an
Ancient wisdom
In your bones
Bequeathed by ancestors
That many eons ago
Freely roamed
Steep wild pastures
Nestled close among
These curving hills.
They moved then
To the rhythm
Of their needs,
Proud and free
As the wind
That blew along
The valleys where
Rivers slaked their thirst,
Coats burnished
By sweet sunlight,
Glimmers caught in
The velvet depths
Of their dark eyes,
Ears cocked toward
The teasing sounds of
Approaching mysteries,
Always and ever alert.
Now you stand
Ears aquiver
And listen as the hills
Share their ancient stories,
Stirring old dreams
Of a perilous freedom
Longtime lost,
Unknown except to
The dreaming depths of
Your wistful soul.

Written by Margaret Mair
Painting, original art by Margaret Mair

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