Coming back to Santa Barbara from LA
Past the yellow of the mustard grass
The ever-changing blue-green sea
Into the setting orange sun
Past Santa Claus Lane and Summerland
Past the palms that rise so high
Into the ocean air that cools the spirit
Onto the ramp that takes me home.
Lovely! Your poem evokes the feeling of coming home to a familiar landscape–regardless of what our own particular landscape looks like. Well done!
Thanks, Liz. Coming home after a trip is like rediscovering a treasure. Peace.
Yes, I know the feeling!
Sweet! Love it, Mark.