Barefoot and dirt-clod I tip-toe across the yard Avoiding mounds of stickers Sharp rocks and weeds
The sky is full Satin filled milk fluff And moonshine Full on me
Our tangerine trees Rustle with low lying Bull frogs Rib bit, rib bit
A symphony of crickets sings High pitched Beetle mania I hear a distant “moo” from the cows A latent “who” from the owls in the barn
The statuesque wind chime Is playing a cacophony of wind song This life here engulfs me in its pure and rare beauty I am one with the country, home again