In the mountains
The air is fresh and clear
In the mornings we breakfast on the patio, birds are singing
And the dawn is full of anticipation
The Earth is alive,
With the Sun comes hiking through meadows, cannon balls
Into icy water, finding new fishing holes or
Returning to reliable ones.
When eagles go to their aerie, bats come out in force
We’ll eat what we caught and the alcohol is on the rocks…
Literally, under an iron sheet up the creek.
We tell jokes and tales of the “Good Ole Days”,
Lanterns softly whisper,
We all bed down.
I’m on the fold out couch in front of the fireplace,
The stars are out and they’re shining brightly off of
In the mountains.
See all poetry for Nicholas Harris #AV8670