If you want to dream something new,
something other than your usual,
labored, emotional night-processing,
wake before dawn, grab a bucket to sit on,
and take a few wrong turns as you drive
away from neighborhoods and traffic lights,
until you’re pleasantly surprised by the
overgrown hills the road has brought you.

Return to these hills with your bucket,
as much as you’d like, and watch
the morning come in its different shades,
the song of the waking earth collecting
as dew on your boots, and running up
your legs, similar to the thick, unkempt
grass quivering beneath the wings of Spring.

These are moments you wish the kids
you’ll someday have could be present for.
Hold onto this vision—guiding another human
in the holiness of being a gatherer of wonder,
goldenrod and mulberries, and getting caught
red-handed by the doe spying from the tree line.

Hold these mornings and hills loosely—
you do not own them, having no other reward
than the secrets you trade with them
because moments like these aren’t tailored
for a profit but for your right-now joy.

This dream on this hill is for making you whole—
where your night is relieved of labor
and your heart is pleasantly full.