In western Massachusetts
I would find my lake.
Water lilies sprouting like millions of old friends in greeting.
Purple Wildflowers swimming across the water and
Blue fish nibbling toes
In Vermont the vast sky would appear over green hills carved by gods hands
Valleys howling like the coyote calls into the wind.
I would find clouds in the shape of gods and goddesses making love,
A wise woman and my sense of smell.
I would find the teasing sun creeping into the morning’s window like a curious child
Maine of course would bring me the ocean with its salt air.
Pink granite rock on coasts
Tide pools with red starfish
The sea moving boats gently into the harbor.
Here I'd find my chowder and lobster huts.
My roaring fire pits
And roasted marshmallows
Not to mention ferocious mosquito’s.
New Hampshire would neatly fold every place before it and wrap it into silk cloth,
It would include its star lit skies,
Its bay, it's canvas sails,
Its barns and rolled hay
Mount Washington watching over
Nickering horses and fishing villages
It would tie a red bow around the silk like
A package to be sent into the drawers of memories.
