Where the Green Grass Was Yellow
In the sun we were riding In the sun where the green grass was yellow bending in such consummate purity California you were a paradise spinning open freedom. Inviting us in. We lived in wood, touching trees Wind-chimes and abacus. We ate food we made our own. Inside flutes and recorders Oboes and harpsichords in a cool plush of sound. We ate chicory and wild violets like paintings It all grew slower, then, on that road. Where we got a second wind fables of the new earth and its people. Making all this new energy together And outside this silent plenty A sheet of rich yellow A violin and a soprano Singing of freedom
©2022 Linda Chown
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…is a writer born in Berkeley who has been socially aware all her life. Years in Franco’s Spain only taught her more about group action and collaboration. Professor of American and teaching World literatures teach her how to live and love. Intensity is her middle name .