She sang for the birds,
dancing like flaxen wind,
sunshine-bright and gently
waning.

she twirled like golden leaves
and laughed like stilled ripples of water--
the hairpin curve of her mouth
tilted up in the parody of a smile.

And in the depths of night,
you fell softly in love
with the sound of her silence,
echoing like the wilting feathers
of a songbird
who can sing no more.

The Mountain keeps all secrets. Crusted lichen on timeworn boulders. High altitude longing for alpine daisies. Carefree blossoms, long ago plucked, gone to seed, restless in the fertile ground.  Wildflowers bloom shortly sweet, fleeting paintbrush to layered canvas. Fairy slippers lost on crumbling doorsteps. Glacier lilies pressed between avalanched pages.  Forget-me-nots in forgotten blue hollows. The common harebell feels anything but common when seen through a lover's eyes. Forest tiger, your bulbs taste bitter. Purple lupines sage with fuzzy-leafed logic.  Fireweed, *****, unadorned, eternally reaching. Lousewort, spreading phlox, leave this scarlet alone.  Listen to Indian Henry, it's bad luck to trample what is sacred. The devil dreams behind steep and sheltered walls. Keep to the Wonderland, bypass this Trail of Shadows.  Seek ancient hunting grounds, steadfast shelter in the wooded clearing.  There is no pearly everlasting along these old trails.  Paradise lost may never be regained.

The salty breeze
Such a nostalgic smell
As we comb the beach
Looking for shells

As the gulls overhead
Squawk and they cry
We lie in the sun
Not a cloud in the sky

All these unique rocks
As far as can see
And each of them has
Their own story

My hair always tussled
By the breeze
I walk and I smile
And I look out to sea

How much is a memory?
Burned feet on the hot concrete?
A skinned knee or a papercut?
Maybe it's the wasted nights, or a dead phone,
Lonely nights spent at home
Waiting on something to "be"
Something worth being happy,
Until you find it, and smile,
The one memory that makes it all worthwhile.