While I sat at my desk searching for artistic vision
A gust of whimsy lifted me up out of my senior routine
As if I were a wayward party balloon.
I hovered above my house
Slightly to the left of the solar panels.
To the west, a glimmering sliver of the Pacific
A tonsure of fog.
Cattle ranches separated by
Around me redwood groves
the green hills of Occidental.
To the east, vineyards
The dreaded strip malls of Petaluma.
Unified by music and poetry.