My Mountain Road

 Golden– hair, skin, sky.

Crisp morning dew blankets the ground

While smokey fog lingers on mountain tops.

The sweet smell of fresh-cut hay arouses hunger,

And the buzzing, chirping, and thumping awake all from slumber.

Old ladies in sun hats tend to gardens, fending off birds from the blueberry bushes.

Cows jump into unripened apple trees, and I mosey along–

Coffee in hand– reveling in Appalachia:

Tommy Toes, slap-footing, mountain music, hollows, farmers’ markets, summer’s harvest, waterfalls and rivers.

You ripen like a Cherokee Purple with such stimulation.

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