Returning To The Hills Poem by March Nicks

I return,
the weight of years carried softly,
each step a familiar echo on the path,
the air thick with memories,
like mist rising from the river,
gentle yet persistent,
calling me home.

The mountains stand tall,
guardians of my past,
their slopes cradling secrets,
the laughter of childhood
still dances in the rustle of leaves,
the whispers of wind weaving through branches,
reminding me of who I am,
who I was.

I wander the old trails,
where my feet once flew,
the wildflowers painting the landscape
with vibrant hues of nostalgia,
each blossom a testament
to the beauty of return,
to the roots that have held me
through storms of longing.

The cabin waits,
weathered wood and soft shadows,
a sanctuary of warmth,
where stories linger in the corners,
where the crackle of the fire
echoes like a heartbeat,
bringing the past into the present,
welcoming me back
to the hearth of my soul.

Here, time unfurls slowly,
the sun dipping low behind the peaks,
casting long shadows that stretch
across the fields of my youth,
where I can finally rest,
surrender to the embrace of the land,
each moment a prayer of gratitude
for the journey that led me back
to this sacred place.

As the seasons change,
I will watch the leaves fall,
the snow blanket the earth,
each cycle a reminder
that life is both fleeting and eternal,
and in this quiet return,
I find peace,
knowing that the mountains,
with their steadfast presence,
will cradle my spirit
until the very end.