It was last night
that the white monster
sneaked unseen
across the quiet country.

Silently hovering
above the fields
swallowing all
what came on it's path

Over the vast fields
I noticed that he silently
but surely did his job
covering all in mist

Only the tallest trees
were lucky enough
to tower above his
growing power.

Early morning sun
already warming up
trying to contain evil

Through the shreds
she evaporated the mist
with pale golden rays

The idyllic picture
brought melancholy
to my heart.

If only everything
was so easy too
overcome.

Slender eucalyptus trees form a fragile trellis
Welcoming you into a land of enchantment
Wandering asphalt stippled with afternoon light
Leads you through vast vineyards striping distanced hills
Their branches drooping with plump purple droplets

Following the single road curve after curve
A bend brings a browned tipped fade edging every vine
Half a tree’s round bowl cut shows a dip dye border beige
Ominous foreshadowing of the landscape’s angry scars
Lurking ahead the winding way amongst the chartreuse charm

Then one twist brings the astounding view
Land licked clean by ravenous tongues
Heat and wind --the insatiable elements
Their appetites consumed whole hillsides at once
Leaving behind blackened branches: bones ****** bare

Ochre tipped foliage studs the rolling ravines
Exposed bedrock stares back at you with ravished eyes
Surrounding elevations graced by green clouds of resilient oaks
Enunciate the stark boundary between
Devastation and lively exuberance

Canyons once dressed in elaborate emerald garments
Now clad in scandalous shreds
Reveal the ripples of ancient fault lines
Testimony to their violent origins
Forged by gaping crevasses, quakes and flames

Solo skeleton shrubs stand adorning
Charred hillsides like chewed and spat gristle
Puddles of white ash and their dusty rivulets
Hint at feverish efforts exhausted in defense
Of the crumbles at the feet of lone chimneys

Naked trees cut from winter landscape
Appear misplaced in the summer heat
They stand forlorn with gnarled arms and curled fingers
Their writhing immortalized in stiff post rigor
An involuntary inhale touches your lips. “magnificent”

The scourged scenery fades with each bout
You are surrounded by sun kissed hills
Their slopes end in brilliant blue water
A promise of peace reflected in still reverie
Mauve mounds guard the serene sanctuary

A splashing otter slinks onto the sand
Nearby mallards preen unperturbed.
Birds chatter in flight, two settle on a shrub
Standing stubborn with smoke shriveled leaves
The enthralling sight envelopes you pressing you warm and close

Your eyes close under the competing warmth
Of golden rhododendrons and blinding sun
Radiance bounces off green fluorescence
A cheerful backdrop to the wind dispersed soot
A slow easy smile tugs against your cheeks. “Magnificent.”

I am from glowing, late night campfires, from Coppertone sunscreen and colorful thread bracelets that rested across my thin wrists.

I am from the winding pavement of Riford Road, but that home isn’t what made me. I was made by the ceaseless games of capture the flag and the smoky haze of fireworks on the 4th of July, the sleepless slumber parties and the heart shaped waffles that followed the next morning.  

I am from the beaches of Lake Michigan and the sand that sparkles like millions of jewels in the sun. With our sticky hands covered in chocolate ice cream and the melodic cadence of waves crashing into shore, erasing our names that we wrote in the sand with our chubby fingers.

I am from ultra competitive poolside games of Uno, and generations of people who either can’t say no or refuse to say yes. From Betsy and the black and white pictures that cover the walls of her home to her age-old family recipe for chocolate chip cookies. From Cullen’s bookshelf that towers over even the tallest of men, each novel packed next to each other like a can of sardines. From Jack, who’s childhood torment turned me into the person I am today, a little bit tougher and a little bit stronger.

I am from the family reunions which are less of a reunion and more of a debate, every one of us desperately trying to speak the last word. From the tough, stone cold stubbornness that each of us possess like a small voice in the back of our minds egging us on.

From mantras of “It could be worse” and the “It will always get betters.”

I am from sugary cinnamon buns on Christmas morning, muddled by the laughter of all my cousins and the cheesy carols playing over the radio.

I'm from the quaint, colorful streets of Charlevoix and the shops full of salt water taffy and their wax paper wrappers that litter the ground. A melting *** of freckled Scots and dark-haired Dutchman, all with the same wide, toothy grin. From the gooey gobs of marshmallow that stain our hands late at night, mixing with a crackling fire and waves slamming against the shore, the stars above us gleaming even brighter than the light radiating from our smiles.

From jumping into ice cold swimming pools in the middle of October, my brother by my side. With our skin freckled with goosebumps and our bones chilled to the core, we splashed and laughed until our bodies were numb and our parents forced us to get out. From the lazy summer afternoons that turned into starry nights. From jumping shoulder to shoulder into the deep rivers of Montana, our laughs suffocated by the frigid water as we ricocheted downwards.

I am from the small cardboard box sitting on the musty floor of our basement, teeming with memories captured at the other end of a  camera. Sepia pictures of my grandmother when she was no more than three years old with her white parka and oil black hair, looking into the lens like she was seeing the entire world. Photographs of my mother at the same age as me, her eyes overflowing with optimism and a smile made of gold, all too similar to my own.

They left in search of inspiration,

But peace they found instead,
Solace they set out to attain,

But heaven they found instead,
Rivers, valleys, meadows and streams,

Indeed it was a land of dreams,
Whether rolling plains or mountain peaks,

The beauty swept you off your feet,
The crisp cool air and clear blue skies,

Beauty none can realize,
With stars and galaxies above,

Indeed it was a land of love,
In the distance congregations of idle horses,

The land of giants and mystical forces,

The land of giants and mystical forces.