Who knew an entire childhood of memories could make you fond of a place?


In July, flying high, a patchwork appears

Bold chartreuse pieced with deeper green

The canola's in flower, in its goldenrod hour

And now you're home, to let it know it's been seen

Inhale the blessed dryness of the air

That you can't appreciate

Until you've been bogged down by ocean spray

Out East, the wind is biting almost every day

But here, it is your friend most of the time

Until around minus thirty-five

The blinding brightness of the sun on sparkling snow

Warms the skin at twenty below

When you learn to count your blessings, they help to keep you warm

And when it's dark, we shelter inside

Safe in our fortress from the ice, we rest our eyes

And use our ears to create life

A song that rings with the sting of frostbite

And the exaltation of the Northern Lights!

Roll dead straight on a road that never ends

And try to put aside your own upcoming bends

Shards of gravel chime beneath, so with windows up

You beg the AC to kick in

Cruise through Silver Heights,

Following the airport signs

Wave Sargent Sundae and the giant sky goodbye

It started on the Hug Rug, and this is where it ends

Who knows when or if you'll be back again

nature poetry
Violet P. Davies
Violet P. Davies
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Violet P. Davies

Words make me feel fulfilled occasionally.

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