Here

Medium woods tones mix with bamboo,

In a gorgeous kaleidoscope of browns.

My fingers are eager to feel those wood knots,

Grains carefully treated, pulled from sacred ground.

They’re everywhere. They’re shelves above my bed,

Holding up cascades of plants and flowers,

Living things that creep around my walls,

Playing hide and seek with me for hours.

Those plants drop their vines out high windows,

That open to a valley of vegetation.

The windows look out to sunrises that daily,

That stop me in my tracks. A sweet salvation.

Here, birds build nests in the tiniest crevice,

Soaring above me while I sleep,

Bringing berries and eggs and songs to me,

Filling me with a joy both wide and deep.

Light erupts as though the walls are glowing,

Tumbling in through wide, open doors.

Reflecting off ornate, antique mirrors,

Alighting on my rugs and walls and floors.

Here, I feel safe—as the nature I stole from

Steals back my home, invading every space.

And bringing everything to life.

From my colorful rugs to my tired face.

Here, I am devoured by soft breezes,

Noises from my neighbors and passing kids.

I come to life with ginger tea on my lips,

Overcome by a peace only God can give.