Friday, December 26, 2014
Alone in the last original house,
Near the church without a steeple…
I am the last survivor,
On the cliff of the wind people.
The neighbors have been dying off;
We’re a ghost town on the Salish Sea…
The orchards are falling in the wind,
I‘m the last apple on the tree.
New neighbors won’t relive our lives,
They leave when the winds begin…
Returning from California,
To the cliff, when all’s calm again.