I can still smell that midsummer’s air,
When I was too young to know or to care,
My unruly hair bled down to my waist,
A fierce, Celtic summer
with Ohio’s face.

The mourning dove sang with her lilt and her sway,
While I let the sun pierce my soft skin with her ray,
I peer’d into heaven that day as a child,
And He promised to me that I’d always be wild.

Earth on my hands and fire in my heart,
The woodland and I were ne’er far apart,
Her soft, heady voice would whisper my name
As if her soul and mine were one and the same.

Where the thistle and cressleaf grow thick underfoot
And the flicker of candles all dusted with soot
Welcome autumn at last, drenched in honey and mirth
As I breathe the wild air that shall be my rebirth.