Buena Bastion
There’s something about the trees here,
gentle giants lumbering with the breeze,
standing tall to their concrete counterparts,
a verdant defense against civilization.
Sky streams through their leaves
where daylight rests its photons.
It’s so quiet here in this world on the hill,
an unpopped bubble teeming with fresh air.
Even the birds sing sparingly in this peace,
gliding through the branches to their
hard-earned homes.
Take a look at passerbys,
each more enchanted than the last
with emerald and azure
in their eyes.
It feels like magic here,
as if some spell compels me
to kick off my shoes,
leap into the grass and
live this Sunday afternoon.