The Land of White Houses and Towering Trees

In the time of warm and summer

A party gathers and talks

About again, going to the magical place

Our second home

The drive in the hills, smelling the pine of the trees, and the aroma of the mountain

The call of a bird and the fast prance of the deer

As we approach the place, I notice the trees get thinner, and the shade is less

I get warmer, but not a disabling hot. A great heat, mixed in with a pleasant breeze that you can find nowhere else

Hundreds and thousands of small grape vines, sleep until the harvest, and wait to be picked for our innocent and sensual pleasure

The forest disappears and again we are in the realm of men

Small cafes, taverns, novelty shops, and little white homes rest on the road, and nap until the next day comes, and as we wake, they awake as well.

As we move our gear into our quaint log cabin, I can't help but notice a small butterfly flutter at my side, and journey off to another land. Maybe far, maybe close.

At this time, I now hear the splashing of the pool, the yelling of children jumping into the warm light blue water

The bubbling of the hot tub and the music from the stereo

The laughter of men and the crash of a wine glass falling to the ground, shattering.

Nearby at the small stone beach, the cool water flows and refreshes the travelers who come here.

The aromas of different varieties of meat being grilled to perfection in the small shack at the top of the beach

The grinding of small pebbles and sand as I cross the rocky surface

Many enjoyable melodies playing from a nearby guitar

I lay my things down on an empty lot, take off my shoes, and slowly walk towards the cool water.

Not wasting time, I leap into the water, I cannot see, so I arise. The breeze hits me, and I laugh like a mad child, because I cannot believe I am back.

At that moment... I would rather be nowhere else.

(This poem may be edited in the future... But it might not be. Idk.)