I want to hear wind and the rustle of leaves. I don’t want the sun but rather the greyness of rain. I want to hear my thoughts and the sound of my tires on asphalt and the distant laughter of children. I want the time and the silence to remember who loved me. I want my memories to tickle me like the soft lofty cry of a gull. I want what I smell to fill me to the very rim of my senses and the river beside me to flow like words on paper made into song. I want the poetry of my youth to land in my soul the way dusk lands on my sight and delights me. I am alive on a day that is haunting and soft. I have stopped to feel, to delight in the flowers. Within the depth and the beauty of day, I stop.
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