Coming home in the aftermath of a storm-plagued day,
I find solace in the sway of the tall gentle trees,
Old with withered branches,they lean against the sunset,
Providing fellowship with their untold tales of elder days
And deep set love of the wild and unspoiled.
Layered between orchards and beaches
There is a winding mind running through
currents and gusts,
Past little hollows of thoughts
And old stone memories chiseled
by looping blue rivers.
It is faintly tinged by human hands;
A gossamer white of year’s gone by.
It is a mind haunted by loveliness and twilights,
Making daisied fields and seas gone wild,
Dispensing grace and hospitality
To generations of vagabonds and dreamers.