My dreams are like the tamarack trees,
Glowing amber with needles of gold.
Under a hunters moon I wonder with the dryads & they tell me their secrets.
The mountain slops are vigilant & so I became,
Anticipating the frost & the diminishing light.
I roam the land of fairies & spirits,
Disguised in a splendor of silver wings.
They flit and dive among the wild forests,
And make love in the grass.
Watch how the boughs nod heavy with fruit, the sweet tang melts into my daydreams.
A quiet place, nestled among the mountain slops,
Where the birds sing & wilderness thrives.