Exalted: beauty...
murmuring via the wind...
The wind.
What is the wind to me...
Fire
Burning...
A leaf curls like ash
wafting downward dry and grey...
A perfect prism in singular fashion,
cold to touch but full of passion...
Do not want to rain on anyone's parades
Water is much heavier than atmosphere...
Snow fall covers land
like the flowing river, still...
Drizzling liquid
soaking, filling, nourishing...
The sculptor breathes once
Releasing formed perfection...
Yesterday the first nasturtium blossom of the...
burst forth. A glorious, mind-bending...
Goose-stepping on a soul song
you set the sky ablaze...
Why ask who will stop the rain
when the question is when will it begin...