Land of the Windmill

It's a square wooden table in the corner of a buzzing coffee shop,

the warmth of my maple latte mug combatting the cooler weather chill,

the beautiful backdrop of raindrop soaked rooftops,

the rain drenched streets are anything but still.

It's a Spotify playlist of old-time country music - so simple; so true,

the wanderlust of my imagination taking me to a different place and time,

the crisp mountainous air, the balsam fir lined drive, the skies of blue,

the wilderness of the great outdoors on my mind.

It's the spontaneous drive to a destination unknown,

the "I don't know, but gotta go" kind of feeling,

for this new road my tires pursue is but a stepping-stone,

of the greater wonder of the land that I am stealing.

It's a square wooden table in the corner of a buzzing coffee shop,

the warmth of my maple latte mug combatting the cooler weather chill,

but it's my memory that paints a new beautiful backdrop of sunsets beyond the rooftops,

of hilly roads up imaginative mountain tops to the land of the windmill.

- j.f.