What is or what was...seen through memory and over time, perceptions changes...
Armadillo hills, hunching away.
Rooting in to ground
That hoisted them
To starless skies.
Caliche roads that led away
From where I thought
My steps should go—held vaguely
In my dreams, the hills
So eagerly I left
What seemed only barren land—
But tell me,
Does the green-glass water sneak
Past sleeping towns,
And do the hills
Or were they always
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|Reviewed by Lois Christensen
|I have a niece living in Texas. Don't know where exactly but hopefully she sees the high hills like you do too.|
|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|You provide substance for reflection with your verses, Leslie. Thank you for sharing. Love and best wishes,
|Reviewed by Regina Pounds
|Dreamy, whimsical contemplation of a pastural scene...I like the question at the end. Fit for a lazy summer's day...
Well done, Leslie.