I followed the force of Love…
to the cistern,
Sitting high on the hill.
Underneath the windmill,
Which creaked in the breeze.
Its stone and brambles,
And eerie depths,
lured me in like a child falling into a well.
A place, where sticks and leaves fall to dwell.
Upon walking through snake infested weeds,
Plucking flowers on my return,
I made a bouquet for she who loved me.
No matter how far,
no matter how near,
no matter how often…
I climbed the hill to the cistern.
TiffanyCreek
On Tiffany Creek 