God Travels the World and Comes Home To

Land of little hills

The air warm

gentle

Rain is an old friend weathered smooth by ancient familiarity

Fate, so malleable a thing as to be shaped by the wind

Tight markets churn like vibrant seas of exchange in this land without ocean

Solid ground under my feet and blood beneath my bones embrace each other 

a soft remembrance

A taste of freedom 

This land must be ruled by a different God