Living here in this place

Life
so much
slower
getting there now.

Here
from this place.

Still running still.
Falling a slow slide
the pace of rotting wood
with a few bugs helping along the way.

So much happens
but there is really no measure of time
that I can tell you of.

The ground never freezes here
but I still get cold
and never quite as warm as I'd rather
save-- a few
        rare-- summer afternoons.

This place
I choose

yet choice
was not enough
for contentment.

Mostly I smile
to this never an extreme,
but lately these cold foggy days
and my wish to grow something more than mold
have me longing.

Longing like we all do
one time or another
or always.

Still running still
a slow slide
to what I'll be
anyway,

or for best of all
always where I really wanted to be
despite what I failed to bring with me.

Still running
a slow slide to still
to stillness
to a final act of contentment

Yes
still running strong
but a little slower
and more rested now.

Looking to be warm and happy
empty on complaint
and no more looking for what I missed over one shoulder or another.

But again that's what keeps me going for better
loving this place but wanting to build
into it
whatever better
I can.

The fog will never leave this coast
but I can find
all the good
it has
and be.