On a walk
Searching for a refuge
I found a tree
I sat myself down
On a jumper on damp grass, a few crisp leaves
— autumn beginning to make an appearance.
Sitting, I looked.
My chin ninety degrees to the floor, I stared straight out at a hill
(What I call my mountain)
In the distance
It towers over rooftops
Which sit below a blemish-free sky of blue — white at the edges
I breathe.
I breathe in greener air
A distant view
The blue of distance
An imagined moment: standing on that hill over there, looking out.