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