— Vicky L. Harvey
The sea beckons me from just over the mountains.
Forty-five minute trip to the smell of salty air;
Waves crashing to shore, washing away the winter blues.
Sea gulls greeting the ocean bound warriors.
The mountains call my name from the sleepy town below.
Twenty-minute trip to the smell of pine branches swaying
within the thick fog covering the forest floor,
creating a suffocating high with breathless delight.
My soul longs for a European experience.
Fifteen-minute trip across town to clear the winter stagnation;
As I walk along passing shops, restaurants and out door musicians,
the Sunday Farmer’s Market entices me with the delicious
aroma of samplings found only here and I feel happy.
The many expensive cars cruise the center surrounding
a brand name society in fairy tale style found only in movies.
As I study the architecture, watching the people
with their accessory dogs my mood soars high.
A place where you can forget about the dismal economy.
A natural Prozac
Yes . . . I am a Santa Clara Lover