music poetry WRITING

The Fire Place

The Fire Place

East of the city
I found myself in
The mountains

A bird greeted me
On the dewy porch of
A nature worn dome

Inside I stopped and stared
In awe at the circle of
Windows, sun, and trees
That enveloped me

There was
A bed, bookcase, coffeepot
Fireplace, firewood, and
A blanket

I took incense, a journal,
A pen, and a camera
From my bag

For two days I would be alone
Dreaming with my heart and
Imagining with my fingers

I’d fallen into a ring of fire, and It felt like home

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