i miss it,
that whisper wind flipping
them pine needles and oaken boughs,
carrying with it the mud slick scent
of sparkling creeks,
tinkling through night air.
that moist cool air sucked nose-ward with each drag,
and the curled billows of smoke mixed breath-steam.
That nagging feeling that no matter how lost I am,
this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.
