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I was inspired to write this when visiting a place we had been together. It stirred some lovely memories.

Our Hill

© 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

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Votes: 29

Published: 2/2/2012

Rating: 3.86


We two form a multitude

- Ovid

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

- Aristotle