My Hickory Hill Top

I turn and glance and get a glimpse of deer grazing, fox stalking, rabbits roaming, squirrels dancing across tree limbs over tiny mice hiding in dry grass and racoons waiting for nightfall.  Birds are playing on crystal snow while long legged heron are hiding in the brush as still as bulrush sheltered from waving in the wind by pond banks casting a shadow.  The duck is riding the smell of wet cattails where frogs speak in deep tones, turtles bobble their dark black heads, and fish swish into deep dark cascades beneath the surface.  The trees domineer the distant mural of needle and branch.  The skies canvas the heavens with a happy blue.  These soft songs of praise seek the pleasure of God and every stirring sound is a charm to treasure – every glimpse is pleasant to perceive.  

At first, I enter with a disrupting presence and all fall silent or scurry away.  Drawing my thoughts away to Heaven, they leave behind a pleasant peace.  My small hill is a haven of praise.  Its solitude surrounds me with grace and tranquility erupts to compel my thanks.

Stephen Williams

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