Storm Risin'

The thunderheads had threatened
Near all day long.
Grumblin' an' carryin' on over the ridge
For ever so long,
Cursin' an' spittin' at the hills
Barkin' down the hollers.

Finally the storm broke loose
Terrible rain,
Horrible storm beatin' life down.
Washin' an' scrubbin'
Like a spinster aunt who never even
Washed a baby child.

Those in the hills, kith and kin
Bird an' beast
Could hardly take a breath.
Like drownin'
Hard to hear or see through the rain
Time to hunker down.

Storm finally slows and dies
Wasted an' worn.
First out an old brammer bull
Fearin' nothin
Wanders to an ol' hickory fence post
Leans hard.

A coon, 'bout drowned crawls top a log
Hair punked up
Lookin' all wild an hassled by the rain
Birds wake, sing
Life moves on quickly, merrily
After the storm.

Survey Round Home

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.

Question

Do you know what you call a Mountain Man in Paradise?

HOME!

Gone Home

Gone to the hills
Seeking my muse
Songs of the mountains
Hills humming
Whisperin' my name
I'll hear it as I drive
Callin' again an' again,
Come home
We miss you
Come home.
I'll go faster still
Till I am home
to the hills.

Flight of Fancy

Oh, that I could fly
To stretch forth wings
And push away
From the clods of dirt
Reach out with magic
To slip through air
Just feel the winds
Raise me up
And toss me
Like a bit of down
Shaken from a bird
Released to go
Where it will.

Oh that I could fly,
And look down below
With tears in my eyes
At the hills of home.
That I could see
With birds eye view
The hollers, creeks
Rivers and rugged cliffs
Of Appalachia.
That I could take in
Even more than I can
See, feel, taste, hear
And touch
Of my Beloved home.