Com’on, hurry,
catch the ice cream truck.
We’ll eat our treats
as we walk to the feathery hill
in the golden meadow.

I got a fudgicle
Did you get a creamsicle?
Com’on, hurry,
let’s eat them before they melt.
Then we’ll skip up the path
leading to the feathery hill
in the golden meadow.

Just a little spooky here in this part.
It’s not long though.
Here hold my hand,
we’ll kick like the Rockettes
to the feathery hill in the golden meadow.

The light, see it?
It’s not far now.  C’mon run, run
through the filtering mystical veil
into the feathery hill in the golden meadow.

Swaying hay, dancing luminescence bursts of warmth hugged by a breeze
caressing wildflowers,
dotting colour through the expanse.
Spread your arms and twirl
through the meadow to the feathery hill.

Long laden blades of grass pick one.
Glide it through your teeth and taste its sweetness.
Inhale the scent of Mother Nature . . .
the hay, wild mint, and the musk.
Listen to her voice chirping,
tweeting and yes, cawing.
Hear her whooshing and rustling
with the leaves telling secrets.

Atop the feathery hill,
a panorama of colours, and of textures.
Emerald green carpets, long golden grasses,
windswept silhouettes cascading, dancing,
miming the feeling of paradise.

Ah, basking in nature’s pulsating womb.
C’mon, relax, enjoy the feathery hill
in the golden meadow.

*** Cover art by Thomas Willmott on Unsplash.

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POETRY | The Stylite by Christine Chu

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