I miss you and
talk about you often.
Your warmth when the fog lifts.
Inviting your tribe into the streets and onto the sand.
A brutal sanctuary for nomads and locals.
Your endless dreams in the horizon.
Watching the sunset on another day.
The weight of the world lifted by soothing waves.
Sitting at the base of a sea cliff,
my toes in the sand.
Pleasantly distracted by surfers,
while I daydream about the critters below the surface.
I miss those moments.
Your smell in a sea breeze.
The curves etched in steep walls,
formed through patient years.
Measured in waves.
A love affair of ups and downs like any other.
They rage in a storm and comfort you when it passes.
I miss your stories of the past
lingering in the trees.
Reaching for the stars like no other.
There’s hope in their soul.
I felt it in their damp embrace when under the canopies.
Reminding me of how fleeting this life is.
And there’s mystery in those hills.
A violence following the rain.
Falling rocks that take out homes and roads.
Replaced with traffic lights,
that smile with caution.
There’s humor in your way of life.
An unwavering acceptance.
A resilience to turmoil, I envy.
Aspiring Wildflower 