The Nomad’s Curse

Skidaway Island, Georgia

What to do

When no place calls to you?

The flora and the fauna here

Make my heart sing.

The sun illuminates lovely palmetto trees

Bright green stripes slice out into the air

A sure demonstration

Of nature’s gladness

Sunlight paints the Spanish moss golden

An eruption of pale fire

Suspended among live oaks.

The sun goes down

And it turns cool

Blues takeover

Almost immediately

As the swamp

Begins to rest

Songs of crickets

Chitter and chatter

Strange birds

Sing the arrival

Of the night

Out here,

I am at peace.

I am relaxed.

But this is not

My forever home.

Have I wished too hard

Wanted too much

For so long

To be a nomad

To unmoor myself

From the shackles of snow

And is it now my curse

To forever wander

Marveling at the world’s beauty

Watching the sun set

Above a thousand different spots

Each special

In their own right?

What a maddeningly beautiful curse

If so.