OUR HILL - by Jon Hart

OUR  HILL  by  Jon Hart I sit on our hill There is silence, except for the breath of the world It caresses the leaves softly Tenuously, as I imagine my hand would touch your face It stirs dormant memories Precious baubles fill my consciousness A smile, a laugh, a caress, a scent Your touch, your embrace, your kiss The Autumn sun warms my face Awakens me As I walk away, eyes closed I can feel your hand in mine