Fleeting flights from the cities contamination

like an unshackled Falcon set free on the nation.

Magical flights stored in my core.

There to harvest

when memories

I choose to restore.

 

Fishing flies on an inlet so blue…

Why it’s Heaven to me…

What is it to you?

 

Sandhill’s cooing to their young (so I hear)

is sweeter than drinking that first cold beer.

Watching the deer roam…safe from fall’s war…

Sets my mind free like a good metaphor.

 

Moonlight’s magic

on an Ocean Lake

is "Superior" by far

to a gang-members wake.

 

Take my word for it;

I’ve been there and back!

You can’t get this high

from smoking crack!

 

‘Tis a natural high,

Good Lord, can’t you see?

And the best thing of all…

It’s everywhere…and it’s FREE!