The city is windy,
today.  
Certainly noisy, everyday,
Compared to my country life.

Tall buildings glimmer,
Streets boisterous with sounds  of people and machines.
Excitement!
Opportunity!
Urgency!

Country life, by comparison,  stiller,
Slo wer,
Ex pan sive.

Both are good
I tell myself.
I am still flexible,
I tell myself.

Then, verily it dawns on me,
with unfamiliar panic and relief,
that my stretching-bending days are over.

I want to ride
like the wind
to where my being has
despite itself,
taken root.
Where the nomad has
inadvertently pitched
A more permanent tent.

30 years after roaming
ill-suited ground
my Restless Soul
was cleverly tricked
to settle
where nature,
in all her glory
and quiet magnificence,
crowds the land.

Amen.