I watch from the trees
swinging on a hammock
the earth swaying with the wind.
Lost in my journal,
a jungle of words
sit waiting for the gathering
of fire and hearth.
The creek never stops the flow
descending,
cascading privately
downhill
a memorized path
while I keep holding on
to the bark rooted inside
of me.
Wind chimes dance to
an alto gypsy symphony
resembling Irish moors
long ago in a remote
country side.
The flapping of wings
flutter all around me,
embracing the openness
as I emerge from here to there
through waking dreams
in the gorge of a private forest.
Moments with Millie 
I love this poem… it’s almost as if each line is following the swing of the hammock. Beautiful.
Thank you so much. It is beautiful here. Millie
I, too, love this poem! And I LOVE the new name you’ve given to your blog! It “fits” you so well, like a favorite pair of gloves!
love you and your constant support. Thank you!