Last week we slept in Hollywood returning to our former reality a California dreamin' so changed in just two years the grandsons grown beyond blooming Sam still full of hugs and warm cuddles wrenching our hearts that leave him too soon my Micah feels at home here and i still find it foreign the filth on the streets the never silence lights blaring everywhere blurting out building size ads for movies and their stars angry voices screaming in the night cars always congesting their way to the same place at the same time mitigated by the joy of many colors and cultures i hear the music of a dozen languages on her streets and taste China and Lebanon and Thailand exquisite and straight from their mother lands Maine is the dream now her crimson leaves have fallen our ties there severed the lake cottage home becoming the memory now cramming everything into this 27 foot camper we return and wait for home in these Colorado mountains stranger than L.A. we bear the scent of recently landed immigrants barely knowing the language our family spread and already occupied again pilgrims in our own land trying still to put the scattered pieces into some linked puzzle of this modern migration searching for place for a stake pounded in for a fence of community wandering always visitors to our scattered loved one who like stars in the Milky Way make the never ending path we travel.
Poet Jude's Poetry 