travelling, travelling

Old railroad bridge on the Oregon coast.

people are the same no matter where i travel to
i go to see what's new and fresh
to sweeten bitter eyes
i go to look on different skies
     less blue and bright
     with different stars
to taste salty wind not filled with gritty dust
and talk to folks whose view is not the one i hold

who see foggy crags and forests dark
swept clean by snows and icy winds
and hilltops bright and sinister
topped by blinding glaciers and
rivers that are most like lakes to me
and grasses blowing in clean winds
bending, seed heads bowing in submission
to summer's fading brow

crashing waves and smokey skies
and drought cracked lands
and golden fields drenched in dear-bought water
and birds of a different color
silver salmon leaping
frogs croaking mightily
hawks and eagles circling lazily on a different
thermal draft

but people are the same
no matter what road i travel on