Walking to the old wooden mill walking up Windmill Hill
Walking high above the sleeping villages stomping slow through powder snow following my friend as he stretches his legs moving as two faint dark figures across the dim blue glowing fields
See smoke rising from a chimney off in the distance, a single building shivers one light flickers in an upstairs window I momentarily wonder what they might be doing huddling for warmth by the fading orange fire?
On nights like this I walk for miles until my shoes are consolidated ice and I can’t walk too many steps more on nights like this I love to drift freely let thoughts unfold in the clean crisp air a few pure hours among the hills and valleys
When I free my mind and let all grip swing away when I am calm and utterly alone always the things I find, that I dwell upon are the gratitude and joy I experience daily it’s the happiness and the luck that seem to surround and blanket me daily
I know life won’t always be this gracious won’t always handle me so gentle or easily I know that health and the blessing thereof is a passing gift that will soon be gone and yet to know that times like this exist renews and amplifies the hope and happiness I carry with me
The snow begins to fall again my furry friend shakes the flakes from his heaving back now we must return to the sleeping village both of us, content and smiling
lost in the endless beauty of the living world looking for calm amongst the chaos and knowing that it’s out there somewhere it’s out there or in here somewhere…