I want to be “cloud hidden whereabouts unknown,” on a mountaintop, meandering here and there in a marigold yellow, caravan, green lantern in the window.
I want to be a hawk streaking across dawn in a turquoise boat, into azure seas. 

I remember camping out on a red dirt Mesa in Monument Valley, below a myriad of stars. Alone. No destination.  Once I drove alone through mountains and desert, sleeping beneath stars and pine trees, free to linger here and there, no commitments, responsible to no one but myself.
Once I danced on a windy hill In Norwich, making magic with the Hawthorn Queen* in the power of a fairy ring.

 Now… thoughts of freedom light up my brain like a poem of the open road.

super-moon 
disappears in mist
of time… 
poems found on cave walls
call out to us

* Hawthorn Queen – the poet Joy McCall