The Hermit

I folded up the calendar like wings I never used,

Left a note for all my shadows: I’ll be gone before the news.

Turned the key on all the small talk, let the door learn how to rest,

Let the dust write constellations on the countertops and desk.

There’s a kettle for the headlines, there’s a creek for every fear,

There’s a choir made of pine trees humming low, but sharp and clear.

Boot prints fade to fox prints where the path forgets my name,

And the quiet fits my shoulders like a well-remembered frame.

I want to be a hermit, let the tall pines take me in,

Trade the crowded chatter for the creek’s unhurried hymn.

Let the kettle sing the news, let the wind decide the when—

I want to be a hermit and never see people again.

There’s a window full of weather and a book with dog-eared bones,

Moss rehearsing old green secrets on the backs of patient stones.

I stack wood like small decisions, feed a fire, watch it grow,

Count the sparks like passing seasons no one needs to know I know.

I am not a ghost or bitter, I’m just tired of the stage,

Every smile, a folded program, every word a gilded cage.

So I trade the clock for ravens, trade the streetlights for the moon,

Learn the names of birds by listening, let my heartbeat find its tune.

I want to be a hermit, let the tall pines take me in,

Trade the crowded chatter for the creek’s unhurried hymn.

Let the kettle sing the news, let the wind decide the when—

I want to be a hermit and never see people again.

Bridge:

If I say “never,” maybe I mean “till the thaw,”

Till the river loosens winter from its jaw.

I’m not vanishing, I’m mending where I stand,

Growing roots enough to hold my own hand.

So I hang a simple lantern where the porch forgets the town,

Let it glow for no one special as the dusk comes tumbling down.

In the ripple of the lamplight, in the hush that doesn’t end,

I want to be a hermit and never see people again.

I want to be a hermit—take the long way back within,

Where the silence doesn’t judge me and the wild forgives my skin.

When the robins stitch the morning and the trails remember when,

Maybe I’ll open the door—but for now, I won’t, my friend.

Julia O’Hara

Here is a link where you can purchase my CD, “Dreamcatcher”.

https://elasticstage.com/juliaohara/releases/dreamcatcher-album

YouTube Top Song List.

https://www.YouTube.com/results?search_query=julia+o%27hara+top+songs

Amazon PlayList

https://www.amazon.com//music/player/artists/B0D5JP6QYN/julia-o'hara

Spotify PlayList

https://open.spotify.com/artist/2sVdGmG90X3BJVn457VxWA

You can also purchase my books here:

https://www.lulu.com /spotlight/julie-ohara

I am also a member of Buy Me A Coffee – a funding site where you can “buy me a cup of coffee.”

https:www.buymeacoffee.com/JulieOHara