Up here, I can see everything the roads we take, the blind spots we miss, even the weather sneaking in uninvited. From up here, I can tell you that frown you wear goes nowhere. And that drum in your chest, snaring like a live wire with no rest, softens into a cloud. Up here, I can see the sun setting. The dark is coming. But so is a new day rising in a golden mist. Way up here, everything is as it should be. It's hard for my voice to reach you I ask the wind to carry it to yo

Oh forests galore, soft mossy floor I walk with care, then quicken my pace, searching for a pop of yellow ore. It must be a myth, an old wives’ tale. I’ve never seen such beauty. And I remain unchanged. But if I find it, at day’s end tucked between forgotten tree stumps, I’ll emerge from a forest changed, something is different either the world, or me, holding, the golden dream