Staring outside my window,
I see not the snow and mountaind
but the flat lands of Spain,
olive trees and miles of sunflowers.
While walking,
I imagine the narrow paths and
the cobblestone streets;
the feel of every rock
below me.

I see the brown piercing eyes,
that read my soul
across a crowded cafe.
I hear the sounds that
slip off my tongue
and slide between my teeth,
with the ease that was
always meant for me.

I miss you Spain.
You became a friend,
and each day when I walk
and my mind roams,
I find myself walking
down your streets
smiling at the faces,
passing me by.