Author Information
There Is A Hill
Folder:
Nostalgia
In a little spot called Madras
There is a sloping hill.
I know each bump and hollowed spot,
Have roamed there at my will.
From high atop the crest I gazed
At the world spread 'neath feet,
And wondered what my future held,
What would become of me?
I heard the quacking of the geese
As sailing south they soared.
I lay in grass, watched picture-clouds,
And I was NEVER bored.
Sometimes in thought I go there yet
And climb that hill again.
In memory's trek it's sunny
As on that crest I stand.
Then one more time the world spreads out.
It lies there at my bid.
I have a chance to leave my mark
Not make mistakes I did.
I love the journey through my mind
That leads me to "my place".
It's not expensive, bothers none,
And leaves a joyful trace.
Sounds like a very nice spot. A nice rememberance.
I know what you mean about kids and money and batteries. Thankfully not from experience with my kid. But I did witness the neighbor boy badger his mother one afternoon to drive to town (15 miles) just to get him the latest gameboy (or whatever). He was persistant to the point of annoyance. I give her credit, she stood her ground.
We use to have a favorite place.....("we". I have a twin brother.) We called it 'the concrete steps'. Because that's was all that was left (rockwork & concrete) of a BIG house two streets away from our house and up on the hill. We could play for hours there. Yet, we could see our house from there and I can still recall our mother coming out back of the house in her apron, and yelling to us, 'Kevin, Kim, time to come home!' Those are the good ol' days, huh? No worries. And batteries? What were those? I don't remember owning anything needing batteries. Bikes and kites, books and games, forts and swings. Like it or lump it!