It feels like a stereotype —
the windmills, the old ford truck,
the cows in pasture —
and yet that’s my view.
There’s also the 70 mph
two-lane road and
the broken down barns.
The sky would normally be
empty for miles and miles,
but it’s grey and overcast.
The sun is setting,
orange light silhouetting
clouds, and it’s reminding
me of home.
I miss the cradle of the mountains,
the easy flow of the river,
the forests of pine and hemlock.
We passed an old tree
struck down by lightning.
I wonder what that would feel like,
to feel the surge of light,
of electricity.
I can imagine speaking in sparks,
shocking those around me.
I’d never let it stop,
forever giving my body to the light,
shining with each crackle,
each sizzle, of power.
My home would no longer
be that valley,
but a field of grasses
and coneflowers.
Not a bad trade-off,
I suppose, to create a
new home in this place
and share this light with you.
So It Goes 