The Hill

 The hill


The hill I walk each day

Will reveal new discoveries

As the habitual lays bare 

New secrets on the way. 


Every day a new adventure 

A shaft of light through trees

Never seen before but revealing

New shadows on the steps 


That lead up to the summit

Where all is changing on the hour

The sky, the sea, the Wicklow Hills

That invite the hopeful traveler. 


Today the wind is whistling gently 

In the summer trees that shed some leaves

Upon a path of dappled sunshine

Beneath a mellow sky. 


This moment is all mine

I must surrender to the now

Exile the transient, 

The petty troubles of the hour. 


The ferns are leaning 

As in prayer and bend

To gentle breezes

Rustling in the midday sun. 


A leaf comes gently

Floating to the forest floor

I stroke a noble oak

All this is now enough

Satisfied, we need no more. 

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