Ground fog slips around
The trunks of hickories and oaks
Pines gnarled with time
An owls bass hoot
Drums up through
Your belly
As you ascend the rock strewn crest
These hills are worn down
With age
But not brittle, not fragile
They possess a low slung strength
Resilient
In their ubiquitous power.
© Erik Hansen 2015
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