March 18, 2017

When I first got here

   I thought I had missed the ocean and landed in the desert

   That the freeways were junkyards and the

   Traffic smog would drown me in my sleep or

   A tanker would run me off a bridge


Then the drought began to break

    And I chased winter up the mountains until the timber went to white 

    I ran trails named North Ridge and Telegraph Canyon

   And thought of writing postcards on the growing green expanse

   Somewhere along the way finding I could really get lost here


I stepped outside in the morning and blew clouds

   Sipped frost from the eaves 

   Ate in a forest of juniper and sandalwood

   Felt the chill of a redwood wind


So the traffic remains

   But so too the timeless mountains

  The promise of a new vision

  After a haul to the peak. 


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