Therapy Bits

I set my boots on emerald ground,
Where mist and morning softly sound,
The hedgerows hum with hidden things—
The lark ascends on silver wings.

Through fields of flax and whispering grain,
I trace the curves of lane and lane,
Where ancient stones in moss recline,
And time forgets its forward line.

A cottage roof of thatch and gold,
Keeps stories weathered, gently told—
Of hearths that warmed the heart and hand,
And songs that stitched the living land.

By rivers bright with sky’s reflection,
I lose my way, but find direction;
For every turn, each rise and glen,
Invites the soul to roam again.

The twilight spills a violet hue,
Across the hills of Inis Mór’s view,
And as the last sheep bleats its call,
The stars lean close—belonging to all.

So let me walk where dreams abide,
In Ireland’s breath, the countryside—
Where earth and heart together weave,
A peace I never wish to leave.

RDP Tuesday! Explore!