Jimmy Page and Towns Van Zant sit here,
Strumming out tunes in my living room,
Zant with his unique brand of country,
Page with his acoustic style that's so unique and blue.

Sounds drilling gently into the skulls of the unsuspecting,
Driving deep into the mind,
Defences cast aside at the overwhelming force of the medicine's effect,
Sending one into a journey of the mind,
Unknown depths and introspections dredged up in an unexpected discovery.

Gaining momentum,
Greater and greater,
Only to realize that this shall reach greater heights,
Heights that you will never have enough time to reach it, even if you had an extra 10,000 days.

Sitting out on the dock,
So late even the bugs are mostly asleep,
Puffing on the last cigarette I brought down with me,
Taking in the brilliance of lake stars,
And the shimmering mirage-like reflections of the resort across the cove.

Two owls conversing somewhere up the lake,
Their soft calls echoing endlessly across the flooded valley's waters,
Forever a part of the lakes empty nocternal orchestra.

Soft laps of water as the denizens of the deep come out to eat,
As the fall breezes begin in earnest,
Bringing a slight chill like an indicator of the winter to come.

The crickets chirping a tune to the spiders as they weave their webs,
As a blinking green light of a lone boat chugs gently north,
A witness to this early-morning delight like me.

Stars so much more visible,
But not quite like what they are in the wilds of the north,
Twinkling becons of long dead planets and age old messages,
Ones that tell us how small we really are.

Why is it I always find myself writing on here,
When there's only 15% battery power left?
Almost like a creative procrastination,
Perhaps even delinquency.

Is it because the absolute hatred for endings?
Of being scared of the future,
Whilst being excited for it at the same time.

Sitting there smoking that last cigarette in the car,
Preparing for bed early for once,
In order to get a jump on the day.

Applications sent and the feeling of a long haul starting,
But with a bared grin of anticipation for the challenges ahead,
Revelling the struggle to come.

Eyes closed,
Fillings a'quivering,
As the dull background roar of the wind tearing by.

Eddie Vedder belting out the works of Etwistle, Townsend, Daltrey, Jones, and Moon.
Smoke exiting the windows as both my Father and I smoke.

Both laughing at the schadenfreude,
Seeing a traffic jam forming the other way,
Stretching out for 8 miles ahead,
With miles of more traffic to soon add on.

It's a shared humor at old jokes,
Shared a thousand times,
Like when we went hunting all those years ago.

I suppose it is nearing the time,
When my own path veers me so far away,
From the once small town I had grown,
Before I am to travel west,
In search of fufilling my purpose,
In service of the community as a whole.

The sun slowly setting,
As we reach the outskirts of Cincinnati,
The sky blue to flaring orange,
Lone clouds like embers being flung off the sun.

My mind roams up and out,
As my body heads east,
Bearing witness to both great and terrible accounts,
Riding on the banks of a river of fog,
Greying out of the physical world near complete.

Islands of treetops,
I pass by,
As tales of grandeur are told,
Great adventures and terrible fates whispered in my ear,
As fear begins to take hold.

As sullen worlds of lone clouds are surpassed,
Moving ever closer to the goal,
Satellites of radio towers hover below,
Broadcasting radiowaves to those who travel the ether,
Guiding them through the fog and the sorrow.

John Denver is my guest on the porch,
Gently playing off to my right,
As we take in the morning before us.

Sky a spectrum of pastel blues and gentle oranges,
Clouds upon the horizon a regal purple,
Water rippling gently forward,
To lap upon the pebbled shore.

Bald eagle perched up in his nest,
Surveying this beautiful land,
An avian king of the lake,
His stance is one of grace and imperious splendor.

Drive hard through the night we did,
To arrive at our perfect morning scene,
To leave behind the abject horror of the concrete and rebar forests,
To this place where God would go to fish.

Gently swaying on this bench,
Listening to Denver's crowning tune,
Everything feels just right,
In the land of lakes so blue.

Someone seen before,
Your dark hair entrancing in the pleasant summer breeze,
In this place that seems both old and new.

Come a thousand miles,
To end up spellbound by your natural grace,
A look about you that invited natural curiosity,
With gentle eyes and kind words,
Quite literally causing me to stop in my tracks.

Kind words in a playful tone,
Heart a flutter,
Scaring the **** out of me in the process,
Not because you're trying to be hard to get,
But simply because you're so very hard to forget.

In my late night musings I'll imagine chasing after,
But that is after my painful trip back to the Midwest,
Leaving behind the town of tunnels and tea parties.

Thoughts turn inward,
As space between me and that haunting place is increased,
As a gentle rain begins to decend upon Seneca land.

Perhaps whatever messages I might have glimpsed of are all imaginary,
Or mayhaps you feel the same?
A corner to the great puzzle I didn't even know I missed.

At that great imaginary horizon of mine I can see just the tip of the obelisk to the east,
Silhouetted by the rising sun,
Standing as a marker for where I wish to be.