Dream Land Poem by Bill Galvin

This island reveals itself as a hilly horizon;
And, unlike the last time, I am lifted;
My heart receives the Spirit as it always has,
When she comes into view;
And my soul wonders what joys,
Or what lessons await me this time here.

I meet lovely folks who play sweet family music;
They sing their own song of the sea;
And share their personal part of island history.

Then, I select my shore-side hideaway in the park,
And meet a pair of like-minded Nature lovers.
They, too, like to find the out-of-the-way places,
And love Acadia as I do, in all its glory.
There is a secret hidden here, I say, with a story,
And I share it with them;
And watch their faces brighten from this gift of lore;
To be forwarded to other poets and lovers evermore.

I drive the summit of my favorite mountain,
As I am only spending one day here.
I park, and walk down the open granite slopes
To where I have often picked blueberries,
Off the beaten track, and out of sight.

Then, surprisingly, though end-of-season,
In tucked-away cliff-side granite clefts,
Where few pickers wander, with good reason,
I find mountain berries still waiting for me.

The berries are bountiful,
And big as blues go, and I get my fill;
The wind is warm, strong, and from the valley;
Holding me balanced up against the hill.

So… high up on the breezy mountainside,
Surrounded by magnificent island views, so wide,
I pull a harmonica from my pocket,
To offer a tune as the First Natives did for thanks;
I compose a new melody… for me, a new song…
(The Great Spirit knew that I’d be here all along) .

This location, the timelessness, the zen,
And the act of picking blues…
They work their magic on me, once again;
They transport me to where I meet my muse.

9-1-2015 Saint John, NB, Canada