where the wind whistles and
blows through the sweet grass
I come from forests ancient and dark
where emerald moss pads the stoic
boulders and hidden streams gurgle and bubble
I come from the crashing ocean
salt spray and stinging mists
where soft sand and waves tickle your toes
I come from the mountains
where resinous pines and firs
are my incense and perfume
I come from the meadows at night
where you look up to see
millions of lights twinkling down
The stars are my friends
The trees whisper their kinship
The streams tinkle my name
The ocean calls me home
My home is my family
safe and warm
where I can be me
But I come from. . .
I was reading Poemcrazy by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge and one section was on where I come from. Not actually come from, since that was the Bay Area, but where I felt I belonged. I think that is a broad answer, where I’m from, since I feel like I’m from a lot of places. Or I just happen to like a lot of places. I wonder if they are one and the same.
I hope you all enjoy. I spit this one out today while eating lunch and scribbling with my fountain pen in my journal.