Today the ocean visits my mountains.

I sit outside the library,

Knowing that the brick walk could be sun crusted sand,

The puddles of freshly fallen rain could be

pools of water,

the maple leaves floating here

could be sea weed.

My bench is a boat, and swaying in the rocking sea

It is the gusty wind that both

Connects me to the ocean, so far away,

And reminds me of where I am today.