so to syllables I go.
sketching something from a landscape within.
to be drenched
in fields, brooks, flowing clear among green
waterfalls of ice to liquid snow, flowing off mountain cliffs.
life wonderfully bright,
(more than I admit)
cold at night
yet there is star mixed with lunar light.
I hear within while I’m without,
in nature alone:
Be among the
dance within the breeze,
move among the sea,
sway beneath the forest canopy,
run under the bright cloud and warming sun.
so I move
life is richer
when I allow myself
to become momentarily
fuller, more pleasurable moments