the complex dance of dust from the bald earth
sweeping the traces of footprints with a woosh of its fingers
with the inexplicable lightness of the morning winds' heart
stirring the slumber of the trees at such an early hour
as light plays with its colors with its personal canvas
illusions of pink clouds, purple leaves, and periwinkle waterfalls
from a wash of contrasting hues spiraling inside the fragile spectrum
the strangest feeling. the subtle sound of dewdrops and rustling twigs.
a touch of memory.
