Run away to a foreign country, one with plush yellow green pastures. The grasses hiss soothingly as the breeze brushes them down this way and that. My home, a simple one room shelter built atop a broad and wise dark leafed tree who has welcomed me to its strong open arms. The skirt of my plain brown dress tickles the tops of my feet as I step down onto the soft soily earth.

There are no people here but I am not alone. The wind is here to lift the overflow of thoughts from my ever questioning mind and the water is here to soothe me and commiserate like an old companion purified from the complications of humanity. The dirt is my mother and my father, providing for me. Nurtures me with its succulent plants and cups its hands so that I might take a few small fish from them now and then.

A spotted sun perch hangs behind me as I perambulate meditatively. I see a few delicate vibrant blossoms on the side of my arborous home. They chime a brilliant tune that I will later compose onto a clay canvas. The afternoon is spent cleaning the small token and then toasting it over fire. I tend the patches of nearly wild vegetables and fruits. The most desirable ones plucked for my plate.

Guardian stars begin to dot the serenity of a dazzling dusk that demands my awe. I am aware of my tiny existence and its grand insignificance yet at the same moment I feel as though I was specially chosen by the cosmos to witness this perfect event. An intoxicating shiver grips me suddenly as a gust flits up my spine and through the back of my hair. Slowly it falls and the lulling chirps of a million violinists begin to play to one another. An admiring amphibian adrift the pond lilies relinquishes some commending croaks.

As the dark begins to settle in I climb to my aerial cottage to lie down. The rustling of my nest-bed reminds my neighbor owl of the time and she hoots appreciatively before flying off to begin her hunts. The splendid nocturnal symphony soon sends me to my dreams.

I sit and listen to the crickets melancholy tune
I watch the moon start to bloom
The stars pirouette across the sky
Soon the frogs are croaking in relpy
Fireflies light up the night
Flickering their golden light

A single wolf starts to howl
As if to ask the age old question how
I ended up so lonely
And where's my one and only

My dog is sitting at me feet
She looks up at me as if to say, nothing here is off beat
In the cool of the evening
the honeysuckle is smelling much sweeter
Than in the day under the sun's heater

The moths flutter around on silent wings
My heart is so light it just sings
I just sit here for hours dreaming
Under the moon that now is just beaming

My dog gets up and moves to the door
I look at my watch it's way past four
She's ready for the foot of my comfy bed
So I oblige, and make my way inside,and lay down my weary head

Birds are flying!
So many birds flying!
So finessed,
Fluid, and breezy
Look at that flight!
So cool...

Frogs are hopping!
Yes they're hopping!
Such Jump!
Look at me do it!
Wow!

In the wee hours
as the crickets chirp
and frogs and owls converse
a forest symphony
outside my window

I am reminded why I came here
not so long ago
for the glory of the Milky Way
the Moon and all the stars

as far away from light pollution
as we could have come
for the river
for the woods
for the quiet

And on those days when I would trade
our winters for a song
I think of all the years it took
to bring me to this place

I walk the woods in gratitude
for all our many gifts
and think
perhaps
the owls feel the same

Five green and speckled frogs sat on a speckled log.
They tell you one jumped,
But he didn’t—
He died.
And when he died,
The other four looked up into the clouds,
With heavy hearts.
And though they willed the drops to fall,
The clouds were empty.
What would the others say?
They thought.
So one after another, those green and speckled frogs…
Died.
One by one they left their fellow frogs
To battle with the empty skies,
Till only one was left—
All alone.
He saw the empty log,
And he suddenly felt so small
In a world that felt so big.
And then…
Then the skies opened up,
And it poured.

One tree frog singing
A thousand join the chorus
Soon silence returns

Spring cannot be far-off.  
The Spring Peepers have sung.

Let the greening have its start
For flowering has begun.

Soon the bees will flit about
And sweetly start to hum.

Spring simply cannot be far-off
For the Spring Peepers have sung.

Your words strip me bare
My words address you up
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once the boy of youth was not contaminated
the boy knew only sadness or happy

Frogs , lizards , and puppy dogs
creeks , trees , summer breeze
○    ●    ○    ●    ○    ●    ○    ●    ○    ●    ○
Don't ask of me the answers to the questions
You carry in your black brief case
☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆    ☆
The tide fascinates the little boy
Sitting by the bridge for hours to see the ebb

The moon is the star he wishes upon
No one said any indifference
♤    ♡    ♢    ♧    ♤    ♡    ♢    ♧    ♤
On cool Washington grass he would lay at night , just for a glimpse of Telestar

In the haze of August days on Florida's bays
He fought sharks eye to black soulless eye
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The dreams grow old , cataract on my memories's sight , turn cold , die

My dreams once protected my life like scales
From the largest Tarpon covered realm

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