i did not grow up with buildings competing for the horizon.
i will never get used to all the houses so close to me.if i wanted to watch the moon rise i just looked out my window. and more times than i can count did i feel the wind change and the smell of the pines intensify as the sun grew lower in the sky-the same time when the color of everything started to blur together and and the clinking chopping washing stirring sounds started in the kitchen when the lights inside got warmer and separated from the outdoors - i would run out the back door and across the gravel and up the little slope of a hill past the fence and down- straight down the center trail engulfed by the giant pines until i burst out the other side to see it slip slip slipping down on the other side of the trampled farmers field. and sit I would on the soft tall grass and wait and watch as the clouds changed and the size of everything shifted and it was just me and the giant giant sky and fields upon fields. the horizon as familiar as the face of family eventually it would disappear and i'd stay as long as i could before i ran back through the ever darkening shadows thicker than air or thought but never fearful they all knew me just as well as i knew them and probably better
and so the moon came down and i could feel it and all the houses blocked my view and oh i miss my trees and my fields running down the gray cracked sidewalks i imagine the tall grass under my feet and passing the houses full of people in their artificial light i imagine them pines brushing past my shoulders
until i can break through and see my old friend