a cogent cerulean skythe arraign of wind a smell of pine and cedar harangues my face and pulls on my hearttraversing past the sleepy water on the road to open meadows of emerald and goldoutlying silos set stoic amid crimson barnsand in steady harmonization of constant flow through the countrysidethere is magnificence to be embraced in whichever open bearingeven sostock-still my compass points to the overgrown and thorned path to your door