You Will Be Found

Here in the desert bloom,

The windows are down,

The wind blows on the faces of travellers,

The sand rides on the waves of warm air,

You will be free.

Here in the Spanish Sahara,

The grains will collect on the heels of your boots,

The dirt will grind and stain like light soot,

The mid-day greetings are worn favorably,

Lines of hard work drawn on faces like rough sketches,

You will be found.

Here in the mountainous plains,

The clouds clutter towards the horizon,

The trees whisper a song unsung in a choir,

The rocks await your footing on their edges,

The cliffs tower above the treelines,

The jagged pine cascading every inch of the mountain,

The sighs of wind and chirps of birds,

You will be home.

Here in the bleak winter,

Where the storms rage on their everlasting rampage,

The birds have escaped their wraths,

And the snow buries you in the cold dark,

You will find the sun.

You will be alive.

Author's Note

Thoughts?