And with a last flirtatious sweep of green skirts, summer sauntered off, not deigning to come back for a while. And now do you smell that, my love? That's winter and Christmas right around the corner.
True, I yearn for far off places, for paths untrodden, for places unexplored. I wish to see the ocean, feel its waters lapping against my feet, watch the yellow sun sink slowly inside it, and get sand inside my shoes.
I want to go to places where no one knows my name, nor my language. And I would be free to lose myself among a crowd of people.
I want to see Ireland, walk the streets where Yeats ached for a woman with a pilgrim's soul, feel its winds, hear its music, drink its beer, yeah!
Maybe I can only visit these places in books, films and in flights of fancy. Maybe I will visit them someday. And maybe they will disappoint, or maybe they won't.
I yearn for far off places, true, but this I know.
Lying down on an empty stretch of road under an October night -sky, an October rain-sodden dance on a bridge while trucks pass us by, walking through my Xmas tree-lighted neighbourhood on Christmas, guitar music-filled bonfire nights under our fir tree, and finally, the faint air of revelry and hope in cold January- I associate them all with you.
So no matter how far away from you life may take me, October, December and January, I will always be yours, my beloved, imperfect hills that I call home.
True, I yearn for far off places, for paths untrodden, for places unexplored. I wish to see the ocean, feel its waters lapping against my feet, watch the yellow sun sink slowly inside it, and get sand inside my shoes.
I want to go to places where no one knows my name, nor my language. And I would be free to lose myself among a crowd of people.
I want to see Ireland, walk the streets where Yeats ached for a woman with a pilgrim's soul, feel its winds, hear its music, drink its beer, yeah!
Maybe I can only visit these places in books, films and in flights of fancy. Maybe I will visit them someday. And maybe they will disappoint, or maybe they won't.
I yearn for far off places, true, but this I know.
Lying down on an empty stretch of road under an October night -sky, an October rain-sodden dance on a bridge while trucks pass us by, walking through my Xmas tree-lighted neighbourhood on Christmas, guitar music-filled bonfire nights under our fir tree, and finally, the faint air of revelry and hope in cold January- I associate them all with you.
So no matter how far away from you life may take me, October, December and January, I will always be yours, my beloved, imperfect hills that I call home.
