Without poetry?

I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December.
A magical thing
and sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring
than we were in September,"
I heard a bird sing
in the dark of December.
-Oliver Herford



  You see, the reason I use poetry so often is because it says what I want to say, only better. 
For an example, you could read this true account of an event in my life:

Two days ago when I got home from work, I heard a bird singing as I walked up the porch steps and it evoked memories of early spring when the ground is watery from the frost and snow melting, and those earliest weeds are greening up in the fields. 

Or you could return to the top of the post and read the poem again.   And the poem is simply more poetic! (As it is, ya know, a poem.)     Ok, I'll stop already.  :)  

What a dismal world this would be, without poetry.

Old Haunts

  One of the best things about Thanksgiving is that I get some time to revisit old haunts. (As is the case with most holidays, but I do so like Thanksgiving for that sort of thing.) 
  The photo above was shot from nearly the top of the hill that my uncle's farm is located on.  It used to be my grandparents' farm, and as a child I spent many happy hours wandering the cowpaths through the pastures and trekking up the hill.  
  It is a high green hill in the summertime, and there is a spectacular view of the valley from the top.  It's the perfect place to wave to airplanes (and to fly kites).
  You can just so see the barn roof in the lower left-hand corner.  The farmhouse is to the right of the barn, hidden by the curve of the hill.
  This hill is on my list of Most Favoritest Places (in all the World).   What's on your list?