Where does it come from, the look for a windswept country road amidst the tatters of urban milieu?

Dusty, unsettled yet blending it’s vapor into a fertile base of introspect.
Never-ending destination on a track to horizons set underneath lightyears of grooves; searching, wandering as a serpent meanders in a lukewarm stream.

The expectation of countenance, where signs of stories unfold like the glint of a morning field of dew.

Betrayed by the unrelenting swirl of treacherous indifference and a rage that rides in ocean swells and currents. Taunted, harassed, stoked with a fury of imperceptible consequences; then laid to rest in a winter woodpile hut of anticipation.

Seething mountains await the fervid climb to vanquish entombed demons; rolling bellies of laughter and contempt rain down on adolescent desolation.

Awakened! The embers glow in recognition of a fierce dissonance between the sound of the jailers key and the flutter of a sooty tern; free yet cognizant of cobblestoned sustenance and gray-scaled etchings beneath muted light.

The wind that sweeps that trodden path of remembrance lifts up dreams to heights unimagined scale; distorting familiarity and tickling spines of goosebumps with buffered rays of jubilance.
Rooms and halls, once entangled and endless, diffuse into beaches of shimmer and rolling fluff.

Relax, breathe, pull along past inhabitants with reams of silken chiffon.