Morning on the hill
Fresh air in my lungs
I stand by the rocks
And call it enough
Up here the day moves slow
Coffee in a dented mug
Bare feet in the cold green mud
No one asking where I’m going
No one needing me to run
Just this hill, this sky, this minute
And the work of being done
A fence post leans a little
Paint peeled off the gate
Mailbox stuffed with flyers
And one bill I can’t misplace
Keys hooked by the sink
The radio hums something easy
While I let myself think
Up here the day moves slow
Coffee in a dented mug
Bare feet in the cold green mud
No one asking where I’m going
No one needing me to run
Just this hill, this sky, this minute
And the work of being done
No one asking where I’m going
No one needing me to run
Just this hill, this sky, this minute
And the work of being done
