Out here the sky’s as big as the world, and all the rain’s a drop of you and me and everything we see.
Out here the wind blows skyward and takes a piece of us with it as it dances in the field.
Out here there’s room for dreams and wishes, love abounds and glitters on the lightning bugs’ wings.
Out here there is no lost, no posted flyers for the world to see.
Out here the sun laughs as it rises, it kisses the pregnant clouds as they drip their dew.
Out here there’s elephants in trees and sounds in your hair, bright sounds that smell of cinnamon.
Out here there is no could have or should have, but only the breath of the bugs on the grassblades.
Out here the world doesn’t stop or go, and what you see is inside you.
Out here the flickers come from your fingertips and linger a while like pixies on the moon.
Out here there’s water on the wind and rivers in the sky, ten miles long and twisting things.
Out here the mud will clean you and the water will muck you up.
Out here there are sights to see and people to be and it’s all just over there.
Out here you can climb on the air and sing on the hills, the only one who will stop you is you.
Out here the clocks drip slowly and flutter away when they’ve had enough.
Out here the books line the streets and call out to you when you pass them by.
Out here the souls are crisp and line-dried and chamomile-scented.
Out here there’s a buzz in all the people near and far, a silly little hum they look at from time to time.
Out here the sprouts shed their seeds and let them float off beside them for another one to catch.
Out here there’s a willow branch on a man’s head and it’s just as tall as can be.
Out here there’s room for it all and more, and the sunshine evaporates on your tongue.
Out here the childhoods rush back like waves, but calm against the break.
Out here you are who you are, whenever and wherever you are.
Liza Olson 