The porch swing is swaying in the wind with a slight breeze bringing the smell of mountain air mixed with diesel fumes. Coal trucks whiz by with the sound of the jake brake ripping through the silence. One minute the sun is shining down, and the next it’s raining like rain will never fall again. When the rain has cleared the humidity sets in. With the humidity comes the smell of fried food and smog.

The rain gave the fresh green grass a drink of water that it has been begging for, for weeks now. The river beyond the field is swollen and flowing quickly. Ripping at the trees on its bank. As I watch I cannot see the bottom the I know exists or the rocks that line the river bed.

When my mind wants to wander nature seems to bring into a peace I only know when I feel as if I’m one with Mother Nature herself.

For now Oceana is my home. With the gypsy soul I carry I know this is only a rest stop in my journey of life.