Sometimes, I dream of living on top of a hill

 where the fields open out before me and the sky goes on forever.

My summer-nostalgia

is kicking up again.

We're all just passing through

 

Somewhere to call home

Most days, as my dog and I wander away from the river 

we run into folks going the opposite direction--they're heading back home 

to windswept tents and shelters made of willow and tarps and splintered driftwood.

The shining world