The one that waves from a speeding train?
The one that walks in the drizzling rain?
The one that sits in a darkened room?
The one that speaks to the fullest moon?
The one that weaves a yellow daisy chain?
The one that moves marking lost terrain?
The one that sleeps through raging thunderstorms?
The one that wakes to warn the world of thorns?
When I walked this path in the winter, you were sleeping silently. And when the snow landed on my lashes, I sometimes would think of your white petals swaying in the breeze. You are such a welcome sight to my walks in July.
The blue hour wraps around me, seeps through lace curtains
and wistfully waves farewell as darkness falls and the day
comes to a gentle close.
One solid thread running beside us,
hanging between us–
linking your life to mine.
So fragile and delicate,
our futures swing, suspended by
colored strings with glitter,
with beads, day dreams and echoes
of long forgotten lullabies.
If you could come to life, I would set you free.
renegade watercolor shades
of blues and pinks–
lilacs in the sky,
violets on the horizon–
a suggestion of moons,
the taste of soft pink summer plums
waiting to be savored
When I am very old, I want to remember the shades of green in a meadow where horses grazed and hawks cried in the distance the day I dropped her off for a long weekend. I want to taste the ice cream we had at a roadside shop and hear the echo of the pup’s bark on the rolling hills. I want to stamp the feeling of freedom and contentment into my soul and keep it safe and protected forever.
your mischievous face
can be shy or enticing
or even slightly snarky,
which makes me love you all the more
small shells,
a found marble,
soft sea glass and
a tiny cut crystal
Be free, be strong, be smart, be kind,
be independent and know that I believe in you.
spanishwoods 