Mountain Home

I stand up high and look down into the valley.

I can see a house, smoke rising from the chimney.

Laughter rises from among the trees blanketing the valley floor, like a thick quilt on a cold winter's night, and mingles with the smoke as it drifts up towards me.

I close my eyes and imagine myself among those trees, beside the crystal clear creek.

An image flashes through my mind; of small, cool feet, flitting over the green grass damp with dew.

A bell ringing brings me out of my reverie, it's clear tones calling me home.