Summer at John’s Farm

Cribari brother’s 
hearty burgundy imported 
from California
before twist-tops, before boxes
passed back and forth, passengers to driver,
up switchbacks, climbing Dixie mountain up to john’s farm

passing second growth fir 
trees thin closer the top
fields appear, overgrown meadows 
tall grass, wild flowers strawberries, 
hay, Christmas trees, goats and sheep

always cooler above tree line
soft breezes set the hay dancing
colorful flowers waving in the sun
berries not ripe, but starting to get color
time to pick em in a week or two

walking up the meadow holding hands 
finding a level spot
sitting lotus, drinking john’s tea 
quickly drowsy laying back in the grass
I remember flying through a cloudless sky
above wild flower fields 
looking down at her laying in tall grass 
watching her own dreams 


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