Hole In The Hedgerow

Snail tracks along the garden walls,
Impossible to follow,
I had tried many times.
On a hill, in front of hills behind hills,
Rolling from here to the ocean.
Clouds, hanging low, moving fast.
If you laid looking up, you’d be flying.
Clouds that could be anything.
Or so they were.
How they’ve changed in my eyes.
Raining, barely a drizzle, more than a mist.
Reminding you it’s there with little taps here and there.
Like memories.
The sun, peeping down through the beams.
There and then shadow then there.
The smooth, cool leaf littered air,
Moving the leaves here and there.
Wind through the grass, droplets through the trees.
And then, the distant sounds on the breeze,
Soft from the hills behind the hills.
Distant dog barks, bird song plays,
the school house sounds of some game.
And here I am, and I was there,
Breathing the misty morning air.