When did
last summer become
a fading memory,
and when did this summer
become the days
whose breaths
I beat and

I traded the blush
of the lavender trees
and pink peonies
and soft fireweed
for the jungle green,
and the scent of the sea
and the hints of tuberose,
which waft with
evening’s warm

I traded the feel
of summer’s endless peaks,
autumn’s golden leaves,
winter’s silver freeze,
for ocean’s blue ease
and sunshine dreams,
and an island of magic
and mystery.

I traded the grace
of the goose lake’s geese
and light’s solstice sweep
and the bird ridge steep
for the ooze of heat
and a softer me
and a chance
to be bigger,
to be more,
to be free.

Yet maybe there
will always be
a part of me
beating in the earth
I’ve left behind,
in the rosy tundra
and shale gray mountains
and the evergreens
of arctic pines.

Even as I learn to
embrace these days
and find my home
in the seam of these times.

And maybe home
is just an idea
born in the heart
that we re-realize
every time we learn
to love what we are given,
stand where we are planted,
and say:

Thank you
for the precious gift
that is the breaths of my life.

(Artist, Mercedes Lagunas)