How I Know Oregon is Home

I know this is home when I see

my soul writ large in the silver nitrate sky

autumn leaf confetti on a wet sidewalk

a collage of flame and gold

sprinkled with droplet worlds

I know this is home when I hear

the forest breathing in the Easter dawn

the sweeping cataract’s roar 

the bird-trill in spring and crow-caw in fall

and God’s hushed presence in the heart of the forest

I know this is home when I feel

rain’s mist on my cheeks

brisk air on November’s eve

my well-watered soul taking root

I know this is home when I smell

  life in loam-fed moss

  renewal in decaying fir-trees

  a thousand-years of springtime in a mountain-born stream

I know this is home when I taste

  ions in the air

  the dark, steaming presence of coffee on a chill morning

  and friendship delivered in a pot of home-made soup