UNTITLED

UNTITLED

BY ROSS BERMAN

I miss Mountains. 

I miss campfire. 

I miss smoke and forest and trains and I miss Mountains. 

Large, grand, warm, I miss Mountains. 

I miss Sundays after the apocalypse and pancakes on the wrong side of satisfying. 

I miss stranger's kitchens and kisses stolen with street urchin skill. 

I miss fire and tomatoes and October and I miss Mountains. 

I miss dry leaves under damp lovers and baseball dugout cliches. 

I miss adolescent assuredness. 

I miss being camera-ready and headstrong naive. 

I miss horsepower and crab grass and sunscreen scented escapades in air conditioned basements. 

And I miss Mountains.