Lest you forget why we came.


church ov solitude

When I reached the summit of the meadow I had already decided I was out of time to complete the loop I’d been impulsively eyeing. The spring sunshine felt amazing on my skin, but I didn’t trust it to last long. Not ready to turn around, I instead wandered down into a grass meadow I could see through the trees. I ambled downward along the slope until I reached a treeless opening sprinkled with tiny yellow flowers, tall grasses, and in the center, I found myself a flatish rock to rest on.

I sat awhile, got stoned, and stared down into the velvety emerald valley that opened below. When I felt ready, I climbed back up to the crest of the ridge and wandered in the direction of the trail. Just as I was turning back, I saw something high on the hill behind me. A rock outcropping protruded from…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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