The Things We Take for Granted

The Things We Take for Granted

A man lays in bed,

sleeping soundly

There is,

a log cabin that stands in a clearing

surrounded by mountains

with chiseled faces

Far over to the east,

the sun peeks over

a sea of rolling hills

the first glimpse

of golden morning light reflects off

of jagged mountains

light floods

the sacred valley,

casting away

the spell of night

A river flows to the west

crystal clear water

once frozen and hardened

high in the mountains

brings life to the valley

through veins carved in the earth

There is a tree

in the corner of this clearing

whose deep seeded roots

stretch downward into the rich brown soil

and whose tired twisted branches

have been called

home many times before

Harsh winds

that strike the backs of the mountains

are lulled into a quiet zephyr as they float down into the valley

the gentle breeze playfully tousles the leaves

And the man,

lays in bed,

sleeping soundly