Mountain Flute

Someone else's home, someone else's dream,

Someone else's books, and someone else's land,

Who would know more of the trees and stream,

Who knew the mountain well and could understand.

But I was a foreigner in an ancient place,

A land not at all strange to this life,

But still felt like an alien space,

Bewitching beauty to hide past strife.

I don't belong in this place anymore,

I don't know the ways and sounds,

I don't have life left to explore,

I don't know why the fog confounds.

But a Blue morning settles a burdened heart.

Opens lungs so a broken flute may finally start.

Context: One cool morning I stepped out of our rental space in the Blue Ridge mountains, only birds chirping and branches rustling. I practiced my flute, for a moment worries went away, all of the trauma of life disappeared. I played the best I ever had. I hope you all can play your own flute of life, despite the blue.