by Bob Dougherty
Turn to the hills to feel my pulse, dawn’s warm systolic surge,
then dusk descends to diastole, my Sun's unending rhythm.
Turn to the hills to see my Moon rise, shepherd of tidal currents,
companion to seas' renewal, life carries moon rhythm within.
Turn to the hills to smell my breath, the inhale of winter solstice,
follow the fragrance of my exhale, summer wafting through the land.
Turn to the hills to hear life’s song, a complex repeating rhythm;
my Sun and Moon join my cosmic round above the hills’ horizons.
Turn to the hills to feel my pulse, dawn’s warm systolic surge,
then dusk descends to diastole, my Sun's unending rhythm.
Turn to the hills to see my Moon rise, shepherd of tidal currents,
companion to seas' renewal, life carries moon rhythm within.
Turn to the hills to smell my breath, the inhale of winter solstice,
follow the fragrance of my exhale, summer wafting through the land.
Turn to the hills to hear life’s song, a complex repeating rhythm;
my Sun and Moon join my cosmic round above the hills’ horizons.
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