In the sky
the birds fly,
fleeing this land, for this land is dying.
They fly south, to the deserts and the rainforests,
Places indefinitely lively.
But in the spring, they will come again,
back with a flurry of feathers and a burst of heat.
Bringing life with them, from the southern places.
Life that will last us till October comes again.
Music is so ancient.
It's so odd to think that
The sweet lilting of the flute,
Played through my speakers, read from a CD-
Could be so close to the sound of reed pipes!-
Played by children dancing in the forest.
Landslide
A song, by Fleetwood Mac.
Sung by Stevie Nicks.
The kind of song that evokes such nostalgia in me,
A kind of gentle pain for the memories of the past,
And a desire to embrace my future.
I long to travel:
Wanderlust tugs at my soul.
Maine screams my name,
The ocean calls for its siren far away.
Salem calls me,
Whispering tales of young girls lost to time.
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