Poetry

A Midwest February Morn

A Midwest February Morn

Long winters are when I think of her most.
The beauty I desire and left far behind without much thought.

I long for her peaks and valleys,
the curvatures of her voluminous physical features.

Her lakes like watery eyes staring at me from afar.
Her long timbers reaching for the blue sky.

Her red iron skin and manzanita blooms in her hair call to me.
I miss the one that I only think about when I hunger for her.

My heart is tugged to head to the familiar and I desire for her warmth on my skin, compared only to a fire on a cold winters night.

She sings a song in my heart and the song is all the louder in the Midwest February Morn.

My home, My Northern California.

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