Friday, July 17, 2009

Our Hill

The breeze blows the grass
that he's ripped from the top of our hill
Our bikes strewn below
The sky dark orange and blue with no sun or moon
between day and night
Skinny long clouds float by, tinged in aqua and gold
Cars headlights coming on, passing us on our hill
He wears his bright colored camp shirt, dotted with
the same pizza sauce thats on his cheek
as he rips that grass out of the hill
His sweet innocence glowing in the dimming day
We sit quietly, taking in summers free show on our hill
He asks a question, that is totally relevent
Does it get much better than this, I ask myself
Time passes unnoticed, happily, peacefully
Our arms grow goosebumps as the breeze cools us
Reminding us night has come
And without a word, we carefully trek down
with the satisfaction of drinking in the passing of
a summer dusk
on our hill