A meadow in my perfect world

There is a meadow in my perfect world

Where wind dances the branches of a tree,

Casting leopard puts of light across the the face of a pond.

The tree stands tall and grand and alone,

Shading the world beneath it.

There will come a day when I rest

Against its spine and look out over a valley

Where the sun warms, but never urns …

I will watch leaves turn.

Green, then amber, then crimson.

Then no leaves at all…

But the tree will not die.

For in this place, winter never comes …

It is here, in the cradle of all I hold dear,

I ward every memory of you.

And when I find myself frozen in the mud of the real

Far from your loving eyes, I will return to this place,

Close mine, and take solace in the single perfection

Of knowing you.

Emily Lambert

Taylor Sheridan, Wind River, 2017