A spring visit up to the top of the highest mountain near home is just not enough.
Standing at the peak of the hill I can feel the wind pushin' me,
tuggin' at me, tossin' y jacket like an overgrown pup dog
excited to play with someone on that lonely ridge.
Lookin' down and out I see smoke rise for a few homesteads
and hear the gentle laughter of youngin's as they play an' run.
Occasionally a screen door slaps 'gainst the houses below with a whack
that is almost too loud for the peace of the holler below me.
All round are the signs of life, ants cling to the side of a sweet gum,
grabbin' bits of sap an' runnin' for home...
bumble bees stagger through the air, about their duty, lookin' for the buds an' hints of flowers,
some not quite open.
The dogwoods are in bloom, though and the red-bud, both singin' an' shoutin' "look at me, look at me!"
One can't help but see them in the still yet barren hillsides.
There are but a few little moths and butterflies wanderin' round,
stoppin' 'bout the mud puddles in the road, on the path leadin' up the hill.
I watch them as they do a jig above the mud and land once more to sip in the water.
Soon enough the air will be filled with bugs an' mites
an all sorts of critters doin' what the good Lord intended.
Me, I'm doin' that too... what the good Lord intended
surveyin' the hills an' hollers of home.
Knowin' that it is good,
yes, it is good.
