Up the hill I go,
What mysteries will I find?
Through forest path and bend in road,
The world I’ll leave behind.
A shimmering brook and water’s ebb,
Flow as I take each stride.
The creek’s force stills and causes pause,
To watch sunlight caught inside.
It glows golden like tea I brew,
By thinning waterfall’s catch.
The water roars less and less each year,
Reduced by late Summer’s dry patch.
What will we do when the water’s gone?
Where will the forest go?
In my mind will it reside?
Where will the trees,
the lichen grow?
And what of the mysteries that I once found there,
With forest floors dry and bare?
No owls, no raven, no millipede, no salamander’s lair.
Just the hill set against a vast blue sky,
Amidst the hot, dry air.
It makes me sad to sit and think,
Brewing tea just to drink,
What of these memories will I share?
Of the fondness and despair.
Both occur in the wretches of my mind,
Some thoughts familiar,
When footsteps on paths crossed are covered over,
By dry leaves, by old soil, by new clover.
Then what there will be found?
Nothing, nothing, nothing will abound.
Yet from nothing always arises something new.
Not in my lifetime but perhaps for you.
The next after me who will come,
A hill, a forest, a waterfall, and then some.
A whole world to explore and all their own,
Where the owls, the raven, the millipede, the salamander call their home.
Not in my lifetime but maybe in yours,
Up the hill you’ll go,
Through the forest floors.
And what mysteries you’ll find,
In the forests, those hills, your mind?