After months beneath the southern sun,
I've come back home, my journey done.
To hills where spring begins to sing,
In mountain's arms, I feel everything.
The grass still knows my childhood feet,
Its whispering blades, so soft, so sweet.
Beneath me hums the earth I knew,
Now wrapped in April's gentle hue.
Butterflies dance, bugs crawl with grace,
As if I'm foreign to this place.
They pause - perhaps they do not see,
The child I was, still here in me.
The birds call out, a welcome tune,
The trees stretch high toward afternoon.
Each leaf a memory come alive,
In every breeze, I feel I thrive.
The sky, a canvas calm and wide,
I lay beneath, my heart open wide.
Not cold, not hot - just in between,
A quiet joy, a soul washed clean.
Dear backyard, green and shyly bold,
You hold more stories left untold.
If only bugs and birds could know,
This isn't new, it's my old glow.