Early evening shadows
fill the lower valley like dark water
trees sway in its slow moving currents
birds drift like fish.
From a gate at the edge of the path
that leads down into the valley
a man studies the lighted windows of farmhouses
gold flecks against the blue-green rise of far hills.
A jet passes high overhead,
thin vapor trail shimmering in moonlight.
I am alone- he thinks – truly alone.
Solitude is my home.
Three hawklings rise above his head
fly off calling to each other.
He returns to his hermitage
and writes in his journal: happiness.