Oh, to grow up on the mountainside:
To wake to songs of little birds in the morning
To watch kites soar higher than the mountain
The butterflies that flutter from flower to flower
The gentle fall of leaves
The cotton blue summer skies
The orange hue of the setting sun
The night dances of fireflies
The steady flow of stream water
The rage of fire as it burns to leave embers
The lazy tickle of noon breeze through the bamboo trees
The hawks sailing through the skies;

To smell the scent of harvested rice stalks
The burning grass and dried leaves; 
To collect seashells and stones
To play by the waves
To build sandcastles during summer; 
To feel the cold, welcoming whisper of the Christmas wind; 
To hear the pitter-patter of rainfall
The ballad of frogs
And find comfort in the lullaby of thunderstorms.  

I hope you too, find peace and home in this world.  For mine is both sanctuary and storm.

Halina de Isla 
02/22/20