by Richard Seifried
I don’t know when Richard wrote this poem, but Signal Hill outside of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, was a special place that he loved very much. The beauty was inspirational to him, and he had many happy years there with his second wife Jean. The picture below, from Richard’s home on Signal Hill, has been included in other entries, but is still worth viewing again.
Romantic memories of days gone by.
Deep resonance emanating from a troop ship’s horn.
Clanging, piercing bells from offshore buoys.
Invisible wave’s rhythmic cadence on pebbly beach.
Ah, but here, on Signal Hill
Fog is the pure splendor of early morning.
The valley submerged in creamy softness.
There is a feeling of majesty,
Here on our mountaintop.
Far below, droplets coat the grass, glisten the leaves,
Cover cold objects like windshields, rooftops,
Old farm structures.
Not up on Signal Hill, not today.
We gaze down upon a dawning world,
Submerged, blinded from below.
But, we see mountaintops rising up out of the sea
Of exquisite, albescent moisture.
A dark pyramid emerges up from the hidden valley floor.
