These valleys
That we tread both far and wide
These lost moments between steps and breathe
How we lose so much time
How the trees become superficial
When walking by
Fading,
one into the next
Memories are like that
after seeing so much of the same
they blend together and
some fade
until I don't remember them at all
I loved morning
As a child.
It meant
Awakening.
It meant
Engaging.
Then as I grew
Mornings became routine.
They were the dot
Instead of the continuation.
I used to think of palm trees
as fireworks in full bloom
that littered the walkways
next to wafting sage brush
shades and shadow
on sunny days
Littering the boardwalk
I feel like I'm the wind.
Wrapping myself into any shelter.
Anything to stay,
Then a tug.
A longing to leave.
From where I can't stay.
That I've got to grow
That I've got to build into a gust
That I need to be a tornado
Tearing the trees from roots
Roaring across plains.
I feel like I'm the wind
That just came off the ocean