I go out and wander amongst the trees
flowering spring pink white
the green of the grass tickling my tender wintered toes
fresh and new released from the constraints of woolens
I tell myself I am not sad
that spring brings good things and of course summer is there on its heals biting
to be released into the wild
the windows flung open breezes tussling
like children on the mats the potted hung pathos sways as if to music
and who am I to say what it hears
I know my ears have been rapt to the tumult of mind and matter
and are just being let loose to wander in the bright lights of early dawn once again