When the moon hangs over the mountain

In the middle of the day

And the leaves surrender and free fall

From their branches day by day

 

Then my soul stirs with the recognition

That winter is on its way

And I long for the fires of my home

On the mountain, to rest and to stay.

 

As the sun slips over the horizon

And the moon follows slowly along

The night will miss its lunar companion

As Mother Earth sings her seasons song.

 

I can hear her sweet refrains

As the melodies linger in my heart

When the moon hangs over the mountain

I know its time for me to depart.

 

For the road to the High Country beckons

And the cool, crisp air draws me near

As I follow in the footsteps before me

To the place that my heart holds so dear.

 

Featured photograph, “Blue Ridge Parkway, View Steestachee Bald” by Teri Leigh Teed