There was a mountain, the lightning would visit on stormy nights.

There was a ravine behind the house on Second Street, on those stormy nights it would turn into a river with no levees to keep it contained.

There was a door, a key, a turn of the knob and you can hear the lock set free. An open door, bright sunlight, green grass with a path leading to the beach.

The radio man says, mostly sunny high of 80. I think about a woman I once knew. Her name is lost to me but I can sense her within me. In her eyes I can sense her true self.

She wears dark glasses and a necklace holding a heart of gold for all to see. Diamonds on the soles of her shoes, on her wrists and her fingers. Her ironed skin and painted hair are symbols to empower her to believe time has stood still.

There was a mountain, water falls scattered and displayed. Like a painting in a coffee shop on “Somewhere” street, in a ghost town somewhere out west.

There was a ravine where the horses strolled to take a drink and gossip about other horses and their ponies.

A wall, a door with no key needed to enter. A turn of the knob will set you free, free from whoever, whatever you need to get away from.

You never can be free when the one you are running from is within you.

Freedom is a dream, an unfulfilled prophecy once spoken to you in a dream. Open that door, open that door…