In The Hills (1998)

(There’s a lot of beautiful country in Pennsylvania, and you don’t have to go far to find it.)

I wake up in the hills of Aston,
bright chirpings everywhere,
fog quiet on the creek.

Old roads curl up and around
and fall on back down and curl up again,
slipping in peace through beautiful shades of green—-
love-green, hope-green, reawakening life-green—-
and the great construction trucks awaken, too,
powerful, joyous, glad to be working,
ready for the rolling hills of Aston.

White T-shirted, blue-jeaned, booted,
minds, arms and hands reaching to lift the day,
men of confidence walk, talk, and motor
through the hills of Aston;
bright children skip with their books,
then stop and look,
and cool women smile, talk, walk, and motor, too;
and the first school bus is right on time.

And now in among some bluing, purpling, pinking flowers,
an old white dog, standing on his doghouse roof,
barks out a rough-tough deep “Goodmorning”
to the rising, falling, listening hills of Aston,
and to the wondering world beyond.

I wake up in the hills of Aston,
bright chirpings everywhere,
fog quiet on the creek.

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s