Up the hill and over the moor,
is something that lingers close as the dew sparkles in the early morn—
And in that place lies a distant warmth that's true to the core;
It glints off the water, and passes through the evergreen thorn.

Maybe you've felt it before,
When the snow and rains had begun to sink into the ground,
And the dirt dried up and dandelions began to twist into your window and door?
Or read it in pages that were leather bound?

The fox's coat is more orange than the peaches,
And the bluejay is as dark as the night.
This change goes beyond our reaches,
When the earth grows warm and is heated by God's soft, bearing light.

A golden lambency of the sun brightens up the land around you while the creeks
that whisper start to come out of the caves and trickle,
until it all sets and turns the heavens a navy blue with crystal streaks,
Waking up the stars that each shine like a brand new nickel.

Tinder smoke and blazing flame, which is an embrace, perhaps — one of the most tender kind,
And when the glorious moonlight and sunbeams come here
When spring turns to summer, and there is more than one treasure to find,
Never are they mere.

Now the cooled lakes are moving
And the sands are growing hot again.
Different stars are a' grooving
And the breeze is like a natural fan.

Heavy air is saturated with the smells of grass, saltwater and leftover petrichor,
And rocks bake under the large sun.
It sets a feeling within you, a rare taste of new music and song, and it leaves you wanting more —
To walk in that softening grass, and climb that large oak tree, and dip your toes in the rumbling creek that won't always run.

Storms may darken the land,
And the colder days have already been lain
With them grasping you in their drenched hands,
And while flattening your long mane.

But fear not for over the hill
And across the sparkling lake,
Lies better days of built wood, and the sun as it rises over that lush little moor to fill
Your room as you lie there, freshly awake.