Where is the rising sun,

It’s beams reflecting off the vast lake?

Where are the towering peaks?

Where is the whistling of wind on a mountain peak?

Where are the chirps and squeaks and howls,

of the creatures who make their home in the woods?

Where is the scent of the earth after it rains?

Where is the comfort of green grass between my toes?

Where is the taste of fresh rain in my mouth?

Where is the warmth of a crackling blaze?

Where are the dancing fires,

reaching their arms towards the heavens?

Where is the low harmonic hum of voices, 

singing around a campfire?

Where is the strum of a guitar?

Where is the smell of ghostly white smoke?

Where are the stars, 

like a spattering of paint on an ebony surface?

Where is the moon, 

a great eye surveying the world below?

Where are the endless swathes of dark clouds,

creeping their way across the night sky?

Where is the relief in knowing,

you are not truly alone?

Alas, an age of seasons to wait.