Rolling Hills

See the green, rolling hills filled
with heather and scatters of granite stones?
Pause and take yourself there.
Don’t read on,
Not just yet.
Close your eyes and go there.

Do you hear the quiet
as it hangs in the air, only
slightly disturbed by a wobbly bird
overhead and the family of horse flies
buzzing round and round
like children on a merry-go-round?

Reach down as you walk,
Run your fingers through knee high grass
that kisses your fingers like feathers
of love from an angel wing.
Close your eyes again –
Is it someone you know?

See the laze of a few brown cows
on the far rise, not mooing, not moving,
Sleeping, yet soothing each other
by their mere presence?
Don’t read on,
Not just yet.
Close your eyes and see them.

Walk on up the hillside,
Feel the gust of air that ripples a family
of pines and cools the sweat on your brow.
Stop and spread your arms,
Smile with joy at the bright, warm sun,
as our God slowly spins this paradise.