Rural Roots

Plant me in the country
under city lights I melt
I need open skies
where nature thrives
I am tourmaline
urban blight
danger beyond repair
plant me in the country
my soul is buried there.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

45 thoughts on “Rural Roots

  1. No streetlights, no ground lights to speak of (unless you consider lanterns), no neighbor for at least about half a mile, the nearest paved road is down in the village, 15-20 minutes away. Sssshhh; don’t tell anybody we’re up here, OK?

    Liked by 3 people

  2. I’m not going to be planted for the worms, my ashes will be scattered on the river out front 🙂 Would love to spend a couple of hours with you to learn how you do your art

    Great poem and sentiments, I am so grateful to live rurally! Hundreds are leaving our cities because of the pandemic threat and rural property prices have skyrocketed … will be interesting to see how this pans out …

    Liked by 2 people

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