I'm in Hocking Hills, where the ancestors lived.
Having my coffee, I try to remember.
Allowing myself to become a part of the sounds,
as I close my eyes and listen.
I hear the birds morning songs,
making known to the world they have risen.
Each leaf quietly moves with every gentle breath,
providing cover and shade for all to enjoy and become a guest.
The sun rises silently over the hill,
sending it's rays into secret places.
Can you see them hiding in the rocks and mosses,
the ancestors faces?
Cynthia McDonald - July 11, 2011