I visit often, though
This isn’t my happy place.
A homemade solitary confinement;
I cradle myself in the arms of
An oak while ivy brushes
My cheeks. Golden rays,
Golden buds, and golden wings
Flutter around my vision
Like twinkling treasure chests.

Lonely whispers of the wind
Interrupt the mockingbird’s call
Like a siren screaming in
The night. It is chilling, yet
Comforting. Petrichor seeps
Into my pores and my
Melancholy blues fade to
A golden dream. I’m free to
Leave, but not before opening my eyes.