At Times
by Vaughn Neeld

At times, I dream of orchards
awakening from the frost
as they stretch, and yawn,
and burst into bloom.

At times, I rue the desert solitude
that surrounds me with silence,
except for the strident chirp
of a lonely quail.

At times, I hunger for the sound of leaves
that rustle in a playful wind
as I laze within a hammock.

At times, I seek the imperial ponderosas
as they revel in the roar of their own thunder
as they tango with feisty mountain gales.

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees.


 

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