The Healing Hillside
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© Oct 2001 Scott Moore
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I took pause from the path to romp
where Norwegian animals stomp,
moss squishing under heel...
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Though the day October gray,
the greens were bright and wet,
and rusty reds with royal purples played.
A rocky backdrop for a fern
did forever burn
an image in my heightened memory.
A patch of moss pulled my eye
as I went tromping by--
a splendid red on a dirt-brown bed
blended earth and life so gracefully,
and pleasing to the feel.
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Near, a stream burbled it's way downhill,
pooling and bouncing through the grass.
Far, a rough-edged fjörd stood gray and still,
ringed by craggy peaks hung with glacial glass,
grayish silver flecked with teal.
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Bursting past a bush, my frolicks suddenly halted
by a bitter, crumbling memory.
A Nazi bunker of stone and mortar
invaded an unwilling hillside,
recalling men who faulted history.
The scene seemed quite unreal...
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Though deeply saddened by the thought
that such a war was fought
in this place of peace and reverie,
I sought solace in the fact
that Time's insistent fingers
were slowly fighting back,
with nature's roots breaking through
and mosses overtaking new
the crumbled, aging wartime battery.
I heaved a sigh and closed my eyes,
picturing within my mind
the self same scene a hundred years from now--
oh how did it appeal!
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Hidden by the living colors,
covered by the rainbow grasses,
glorious forest now overpasses
forgotten, rotten Nazi power
under time's unyeilding wheel.
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Thus consoled, I bounded on
through the long Norwegian dawn
the slowly rising sun finally peeking from the sky.
The interruption soon forgotten,
overtaken by sensations flowing through
my nose and ears and eyes--
I frolicked on over luscious lawn,
moss squishing under heel.
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I'm not sure when,
but someday shall return again,
and find the place that stirred my heart that day.
Tromping by to verify
the vision of my inner eye,
of nature's unrelenting, neverending, cleansing way...
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..and see the hillside heal.
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