Holy ba-jeebus, Beavis and Butthead
am I ever in the right place.
Astonishing.
I’m grounded with the roots of
stories ready to sprout
like leafs during springtime.

Green as the fields
and grassy hills
of the Midwest.
Blooming with beauty
that can’t be forgotten.

It’s an enriching feeling
that can’t be contained
by a company of one.
It has to be shared with everyone.

Just because you’re rooted
in one spot
doesn’t mean you can’t
spread seeds with
the whisper of the wind.

The grounds of the place we call home
live with us forever.
Stay, or leave, you’re left
with something to live with
as a result of
choice.