The Hill Behind the House
Each morning here I go to the back window
to check the colour of the sky above the hill.
It is a good hill, small and close and brown,
its loose curve hardly breaking water.
When there is blue behind this arc,
it goes on up forever.
When there is thick-and-grey
I know a ﬁnite world of bog and sheep,
plain and familiar, a damp sedgy place
that stills the heart till it rests clean and bare.
by Kerry Hardie
from The Sky Didn’t Fall (2003)