BY ANDREW SCHWARTZ
One valley, sweet and verdant.
Where blanks of mist and rain
drip over the mountains and trees,
the fields and the leaves.
Damp and dank.
Rich with folds of forest and fauna.
Where relief can be found in a hidden valley
or behind the curtain of the waterfall.
It’s a place where people tell you what should be
and listen to memories of what was
transform to make sense of what is.
While mourning what will never be again.
Drought and fire,
and all too balmy temperatures,
and sunny days when those rays should be shuttered by
grey clouds and incessant rain.
But we are, and the animals are too.
The land is the land. Still beautiful.
Still giving a glimpse of the eternal.
Still calling you home.