My trees are grey,
Not brown, like yours.
Not like the few red-woods
The tall, imposing redwoods
Which grow sparsely
Around my home.
Few trees turn colors,
The ones that do turn grey
few lose their leaves,
Grey, twisted, beautiful, proud;
These are my trees.
My sky:
My sky is blue, but not your blue,
My sky is a deep, sharp blue;
Fading into an ice sapphire.
Faded and stunning, the sky.
But that blue is hardly seen.
Grey. Swirling, bold, hungry,
Grey covers my sky.
The sky is like the grey kitten,
Sleeping in the shed.
Soft, kind, but is a ferice hunter.
That is my sky.
My beach:
My beach is like any other beach.
Sand, birds, rocks, the smell of dead fish and rotting sea weed.
But my beach is special.
A sunset, laughter, me as a child
Greek food, a picnic,
the bird called "Seegy".
My memories. My beach is special.
This is my beach.
My ocean:
My ocean is the largest in the world,
As I look across the bay,
The deepest blue is there
Watching calmly
Waiting to strike.
My ocean is special
The place where I sail.
My ocean is a home to many
Across much if the world
My ocean is beautiful, cold, dangerous.
This is my ocean. My cold, cold ocean.
My night sky:
My night is not like any other,
No, my night us not like yours.
The moon lights it up,
So the sky is a pale white.
When the moon hides a way,
The night is so dark,
So dark, the ink black/blue.
The sky is a blanket, the stars holes,
Showing heavens light.
Silence.
Nothing is heard.
Almost deafening.
An owls hoot,
A mountain cats paw,
Then all is silent again.
This is my night.
My world of winter:
This is my world of winter,
mine, not yours.
It is like no other.
My trees, grey and proud.
My sky, so cold, such ice.
My beach, though like any other,
Holds my memories in it's hand.
My ocean, so calm, ready to strike.
My night sky's clear sharpness,
All my own.
This is my world,
So unlike yours.
My winter world.
So basically I felt like writing a poem. Yep, that's about it.
Oh, btw, the trees are oak.
