ella149

Can you decide where home is
Until the place where you are
Becomes a little less special
Then where you long to be.
The notion of home
Stretches it's legs
And wanders elsewhere

Stark trees extend their bare branches
Into November skies of steel
Full of tempestuous clouds hiding buckets of flakes.
Falling leaves become falling snow
Until branches are no longer bare
Weighted down by this blanket

Summer days stretch on and on
Like the sun drifting across the blue sky.
They are filled with laugher and boat trips
Blue lakes and campfires.
But these days also pass by quickly 

Alone you stand on your tiny island of weathered gray rock
Surrounded by immense calm water
A mirror provided for the sky to admire its reflection in
A mirror seldom disrupted, only by the stroke of my paddle and my cedar strip canoe