Wind

The wind makes
The tall pine tree
Sing out a sound
Hard to describe, a
Mix of lonely, moving
cold, rushing like a train
Down the slope toward the
Moonlight beach or other times
Up the slope capering as the pine
Tree thrashes about, as if trying to
Walk away to find what it has
Already like myself found,
A safe shelter from the
World here on this
Hillside by the
Blue Pacific
Amid the
Palms.
I watch
The gray
And white
Clouds rush
Across a light
Blue sky headed
Upslope so fast they
Race across the vault of
Heaven as I take another
Sip of hot tea with milk,
Tapping out this vision
Of paradise found,
Though all is in
Flux, always
Changing
Laughter
From
The
Staff
And early
Customers
Makes my hillside
Perch a good
Place to
Live
Now I
Understand
California dreaming.