Dearest bluff and bluster. Keeper of my soul. Cantankerous lady flaunting precious jewels alongside jagged scars. Breath like a hot bath.

Once I swore leaving was the best course of action. But you called and called with memories bequeathed long before my birth. Music. Trees and trees and all the sounds the trees make in the urban version of a restful night. What splendid, weepy, long walking nights we’ve had.

The mud and swelter might keep you famous, but I have seen you cool and all silvery glass. Wisps of fog curling beneath your bridges, old ghostly mystics. What splendid, weepy, long walking mornings we’ve had.