Muddy Boots, Mirrored Lakes
A vineyard is just a fancy word for grape farm.
The grass is green.
The leaves are yellow.
The rain has fallen.
The turkeys are perched high on fence posts like guardians.
It’s a good day for hiking.
Just south of the roaring highway.
Strolling softly as birds join in joyful conversations.
I hurry not as the trucks do.
I’ve got nowhere and no one to be.
Here among the hills, I am free.
Watch a video of this poem by clicking here.