Saturday, November 20, 2010


I wake up to utter darkness with no sound but the steady pounding rain outside my window.  I'm home.
Port Orford is a step back in time, a much needed break from the fast paced rest of the country.  The quiet used to wake me. Startled out of sleep without the comforting roar of Harlem outside my window I'd wonder what was wrong.
Now, the darkness unencumbered by street lights, the sound of rain, the view of wild turkeys and bucks wandering carelessly in the yard.  These things are comforting, a reminder of my past.
Cards by the fire, knitting of scarves, family, the wet outdoors.
I'm home.
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. -Pablo Neruda

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