I Remember Moving
I remember the differences.
The trees, distorted, twisted by ocean breezes.
The impossible blue/green of the sea.
Exchanging waving wheat
For fluted waves.
No mountains.
No plains.
Just the ridiculous profusion of flowers
And the endless song of the ocean against the sand.
Then...
I remember moving.
I remember the differences.
The looming gray stone edifices, grime streaked with time.
The impossible fairie green of the grass.
The centering castle.
A crazy-quilt of 16th century bones carving the sky.
I remember cathedral bells arguing with buskers,
And the dour, rain-swept landscape
Peopled with enduring irony.
Then...
I remember moving.
I remember the sameness.
The vast praries unchanged by my absence.
The frosted mountains brushing impossibly tall fingers towards the sky.
Exchanging oceans of granite and salt water
For a land without oceans.
No beaches.
No castles.
Just the ridiculous politics of family
And the tug of a grandchild's embrace.
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