Maybe I just liked
to feel the night air
and let it wash over me
like silky water.
Maybe I craved the rush of the pines
in that breeze and
the ancient tales they spun for me
under the cover of the ebony night.
Maybe I longed to hear the lady in the brook, her perpetual burbling laughter lulling me to sleep.
I think it was the meadow-grass, peppered with daisies, that called me to the wild field when the sun hid behind the hills; its breathy murmur roared like thunder in my ears.
Sometimes I think I just wanted to see the stars like pieces of the opal moon and know that something so complex and intricate could be so simple and true.