The Hills

Wind rolls through the hills

On the lucky side of solitude

Green grass, lush and endless

A fertile brick house sits warmly

Overlooking the world she created

With an air of stillness

Satisfaction

“I made it”

she thinks

Guarded from the chill of October

By a herd of calves and a mother hen

The family gathers peacefully

Preserving the rarity that is honest intimacy

But even the warmth

Of tender embraces

And syrupy kisses

Cannot keep the banisters from folding in

And the brick from crumbling on a cold winter night

Where calm rolling winds

Become Merciless

And impartial to the family it mothered

Months ago

The snow will swell to the ceiling

And all the family can do

Is pray and

Wait for the sweet sound of summer to come again

But come mid-July,

The banisters will be rebuilt

And all the bricks will be reordered and laid into place

Once again

(*Received honorable mention in the Scholastic Key Competition)