There is a banana on the mountain above me
Frosted dew on my windshield
My breath in heaps of smoke as I exhale
I can smell snow in my nostrils
The nose hairs frozen, poking and prodding on the inside
The blades of grass in the meadow glisten
The sun finding life in the melting and freezing
Old wood homes mixed with boutique shops
History of outlaw guns up and down the streets
Camp Four cup of Joe warming my hands and throat
I wonder if I really need to be any place
Granola girls and braided hair
My mind is trading in mini skirts for a Carhartt stare
There’s a majestic movie in my future
In the company of an organic brew and some mother nature

— J.M.