folk-life falling bright on the Blue Lake afternoon sun shine content upon the hills, the trees, the people

the bales of hay soft, and meant to catch resting minds set on bodies willing to hear

how we can weave words with wonder songs, strung and set upon the air, clear and concise

clean, as the Humboldt streams wet and wild, the rock-strong ideas tumble, combine and conceive

for we, (as a community of believers) look for a way to lay the lie straight, balancing on the back of a magician's plumb

for mystery and monsters sung to sleep, come as lullabies, in deep stream bedrock — high hills, tall treetops, and tall minds

so comes the somnolent afternoon hovering, above the shimmering, non-existent lake