Slumber fell from tired eyes,

Deep dreams, vivid like memories.

Rolling green hills, leading to mountains.

A gray mist hung in the air, petrichor.

Songs of cardinals and whipporwills echo.

Wooden rocking chairs on a porch creak

As the wind sways red-flowered baskets.

This is the place. Or it was the place.

Past or future, her mind will not tell.

But peace found her in that moment.