I ain't living in squalla
But supernatural, techno colour;

Back here on my wooden deck,
I throw back a whiskey, with lime, check √

I hear a banjo in the back of my mind,
And smell fire burning in time.

Recipe books surround and cake rests on my outdoor table,
Country living could very well be it's label...

But I see it as "God’s waiting room" --

Mowers murmur in neighbours' lawns,
Buzzing bees and billowy butterflies
circumnavigate newly planted trees,
make me yawn like a pawn.

In these moments I lean back and let my soul bloom.