dream of home

I am adrift through a distant memory. Fresh cool air and white sheets rapping around the wind as they slowly billow in the golden gentle light. There are young birds singing in deeply green and ever ancient treetops.
A scent of autumn rain fills the air, the wet breathing earth welcoming the slow rumbling thunder clouds that are drifting lightly overhead.
I pause for a moment, promising that I would not forget this place. But it is too late, in the noisy cavern of my thoughts the memory echoes away into nothing.

Eyes twitching, squinting at the cold morning light that seeps into the small cold room where I dwell, my coarse face straining like cracked aged paint adjusting from my visit to that distant ancient place, that I seem to have left so long ago.

I rise quickly and step across the small room to gather my cloths and wears for the day. I leave my room and walk briskly from my quarters.As i sit down at my bland office desk i try to remember the sound of the birds.