years in the woods on the bank of an ancient creek, creek stone boulders my foundation roots my hair and stairs to the bath under the narrow canyon sky oaks older than fire and trails made by deer and human ten thousand years hence in a meadow by a spring running down five hundred feet in june three thousand nights in near wilderness only populated by hermits misfits vigilantes and nestmakers walking the creek by moonlight barefoot how many times down to the candles in my strawbale bedroom with a stone floor cool in summer, warm in winter home 9-15-20