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Pining

Poetry & Prose | April 7, 2014

my

state of

being, my

state of happiness

my state of pine trees and

rocky beaches and summers

spent with sandy car

carpets and towels that are

still wet from the first dip taken

just a few hours earlier; where mornings

are crisp in every season, opening each day that

is then closed by a soft, gossamer dusk; where pine

needles and moss blanket the

earth, cushioning toes and muffling

predatory pursuits; where decrepit trailers

sit tucked in the crook of the hills with sad columns

of smoke drifting lazily towards the sky and grungy plastic

toys strewn across the dirt driveway, a melancholic simplicity

welcomed  beautifully  by  the  backdrop  of

green; where, on my long runs around the lake with

wisps of fog still ghosting on the glassy surface, the sunrise

filters through the morning mist like a watercolor painting; where

winter is both a harsh teacher and a gentle comfort, the storms building

stronger hands and the following white calm laying a hush of pristine peace.

my soul was

planted here,

my veins are

rooted in this

soil, in Maine.