Three sounds I love, stepping out my door:
The patter of oncoming rain
The splash of a refilled creek
The hushed howl of sweeping winds.
Perhaps I should have made my place
Somewhere near the Pacific
And all its rugged glory;
But I’d miss the downy waves of green.
The tall eucalyptus and pines
Rustle enough to mimic
The roar and hiss of surf.
Still my heart seeks the bluffs, the sea.