I pack my backpack, and set off before the dawn
on a road that runs through tall pines and cool fresh creeks.
Cool fresh creeks that start from the tall green mountains,
and flow into the ocean.
I pack my backpack and set off.
Before the dawn, the mountain nutcrackers and stellar jays hop among the trees.
At noon, the high eagles circle the green valleys - that smell of tall pines and cool fresh streams - in search of squirrels.
In the evening, I return home.
And I tell the story of the pines and the streams and the view of the distant ocean from the top of the mountains.
And each time I return,
I am a bit older
And each time I pause on the moss-covered rocks,
it takes a bit longer.
And I know that one day
somewhere along these trails far from home
that run through the tall pines and cool fresh creeks,
I will sit and I will never stand up again.
But I know that at the time of my death,
the air will small of the palm groves by Karun,
and the scent of Arvand,
and the Gulf,
and its croakers.