lillipadponderings

In the hollow of the mountain
is a cabin rough and plain.
Wandering toward it from the valley
is a rough and rutted lane.
In the cabin lives a hermit,
in a world he calls his own.
In the safety of the forest,
in this place he calls his home.
No one in the village
ever thinks about his needs,
As he dwells atop the mountain,
amongst the brambles and the weeds.
Yet he smiles and that quite often,
caressed so gently by the winds.
He has learned, in his aloneness
God and nature make good friends.

L.S. 12/27/11