Tower Dreams

I sit at my desk
High in an office tower
Middle of a city
Separated from the world
Breathing recycled air
And dreaming of home.
Dreaming of mountains
Old as the world
Worn down by time
Hollers deep and hidden
Bypassed by roads
That do not take the time
To turn down a crooked path
To find the joys
Waiting at the end
Of a broken path
Or across a ford
In a branch filled
With water
That had traveled
Down ancient hills
To gather and sing
And call to me
Hundreds of miles away
Sing my name
Call my heart
Back home.

False Spring

It is warm
For December.
Too warm
With no snow
Or ice
And little frost.
Trees in the holler
Are budding
Fooled by
A cruel nature
Into thinking
Spring.