I Walk These Ozark Hills – Repost From Archive

I walk these hills
On this November's day
Cool misty layered air
Rich in harvest smells
Pine needles among oak leaves
Sharing and relinquishing pungent oils
Baked Honey Crisp apples and sweet apple cakes
Warm campfires
With embers and wood smoke
Smoldering smells of hickory nuts
And black walnuts
Pine trees stand along the mountain ridge
And this green earth cups its hands
Dressed in harvest red rubies and gilded golds
In bright sunlit hillsides
Gratitude abounds for this day
November's content
In Autumn's low ebb we fall
A playful dawn before winter's slumber
Into the silvery mercury light of day
Where sunshine warms labored hands
And leaves this restless heart behind

Forever here, I walk these ancient hills
Forever young . . .