Covered in green this mountain hillside
the dew like diamonds on the grass
sun at almost high noon
and a breeze filled with spring
To the north mountain crags covered in snow still
and to the south the peaceful village stirs
in the east a castle ancient and still standing
to the west an ancient river
No sound besides the cool of the wind
and the birds who come and go
and minutes pass like hours
as the sun sinks ever low
Drinking it in this wine of spring
each drop renews the soul
living in each moment
in this place I’ve never been
Deborah Horton Writing 