Bathed in silver, the sun played memories
Of light to guide me through the dark woods
Where I found an unfamilar path
That I somehow remembered from a dream.
At the end of a path stood a stone house,
Bright and pulsing with warm intelligence,
Curiosity, laughter and red wine.
We talked for hours before I wound my way
Back the now familiar path to bed.
The next day, morning shook me with alarm,
And through the fog I found another place,
Unfamilar and strange, with cold walls
Dark and dreary with boredom, with people
Whose shriveled souls ached for the deep, dark woods.