Eden

Eden Come away to Eden to the mountains far beyond where streams bear the only traffic and love the only bond. On mountain peeks and meadows, though December bars the way, we, who are September, will dream the dreams of may. Moody, melancholy Mondays let us leave behind along with clocks and schedules that clog the day with time. The emerald forest beckons, the ponds , the lakes, the streams, the giddiness of freedom, the gauzy gaiety of dreams. Look now to the sunset before it turns to umber unnamed days await us in time that has no number.