Secret Ingredients
Whispers
lying in the grass
in quiet conversation
with the fallen leaves
–
mottled sunlight
spruce needles
murmur underfoot
Comfort
come to me softly
slip off your shoes and we’ll dance
in the evening sand
–
mid morning sun
warm black sand after
the retreating tide
Regrowth
budding at long last
relationships long buried
exposed to the light
–
tawney pine straw
a squirrel caches
his winter stores
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