If we had wings, would we know how to fly?
Wet blades of grass, you wear the rain
like magic crystal balls in the sun.
Tell me, what is the future?
Words are like stones.
They can be thrown about recklessly,
sinking into black water with an
overwhelming sense of heavy regret.
One of the best things in life is the love of an old dog.
Dear little rose buds, you were the only two left
after the deer dined in the early humid haze.
I am tempted to pick you but I take a photo
instead and hope to see you again tomorrow.
Reeds bowing gently in the wind—
you know exactly how to bend
so as not to break into pieces.
This Moment inspired by Amanda Blake Soule at soulemama.com