I like the way the water seems to go the right when the wind comes in from the east.
And when I look up and squint, I’m reminded subtlety of a winter’s tree.
Barren branches just at the top and a bird giving a low, lonely call.
Within a second I’m reminded of where I am.
A place where the screeches of mowers are never-ending and the sun always shines.
The longing always remains though— to have a break from the heat and for it to be so quiet that I can hear the falling snow.
The Tape House 