My Mountain
A zen kind of thing
Breathe in deeply, the mountain’s air. My worries captured in the spider’s snare. The air, clean and cool; the grass covered in dew. The new rising sun, framed in a blue hue. I hear not a sound, for all are quiet. A contrast of the city, with its chaotic like riot. It is here, I realize, God intended us to be. Not caged in concrete towers, of this truth I do see. Although this memory, is one in my past. It keeps me conten...
