A Few Places
A lone white sentinel Against the endless blue, Where wind-swept trees whisper And the deep sea pulls us to explore.
A lone white sentinel Against the endless blue, Where wind-swept trees whisper And the deep sea pulls us to explore. Cape Blanco
Emerald Flow: Emerald tides of mist and cedar, A quiet rush of ancient moss. Shadowed canopy bends to canopy, Light is lost and found A breath of rain, a swept green dream, The forest murmurs in its sweep: Hold the hush of Pacific wilderness, Where time dissolves and rivers sleep.
Pebbles whisper under wandering tides, Three quiet sentinels rise from the shore. Roots cling to stone where the sea breathes slow amidst a stillness that remembers more than it tells.
Where the pines stand guard in shadow, the ocean pounds out silver tones. Night gathering at the cliff’s edge, the world descends into secret wonder.
Mist drifts along the quiet shore, waves thunder against forgotten stone. A lone house watches from the cliff; home for the keeper of tides, guardian of fog. Here, the world softens into silence.
A rusty worn dream stands humming in the street, gears whispering stories., In that cup coffee or more likely bourboun? Beckoning chance, or loss in that heat. Top hat of metal, a robot at the door. Steampunk haven where fortune and steam both roar. Places we find in the desert.
Metal dreams coil beneath the desert sun, an octopus of steel holding stories of how many trapped in its arms. Gears whisper of gamblers, wanderers, and time frozen or lost; a steampunk sentinel watching the wide Nevada sky.