A current streaks its way through the wooded glen, racing the clouds across the horizon.
Flicker of light through limb and leaf, lend an air of drug fed time passages.
Time, she truly flies, against the starling wing, diving toward her prey.
Winding through the day, the current meets the sun in a westward sky
as if to celebrate the race that neither won.
Joy, she meets you where you choose.
A darkened corner, beneath a blanket with a history all its own, behind the pages of a book,
well worn, read at lifes vermilion intervals.
Hope against time, a dashed wager, vagrant wish, worthy as the promises made
by forefathers and knights of yore.
Time and hope and joy, elusive and intangible.
Never cease the striving to qualify the magnitude of what they bring the lonely soul.

The sky weeps today, nourishing the earth with salty tears.
The grass responds, the bulbs push past the dirt to lift their hands heavenward.
Whispering to the sun, awaiting the warmth that will fill the fields with watercolor windowpanes. Distress soon lifted, ready to absorb the fullness of this season.
Stay in your somber months, snow and ice.
You are not invited to disturb our spring celebration, to crush the buds who
bring us close to dreams of longer days.
Be strong, ye frail and fragile flower, endure the ice cap that lay across your golden face.
Await the sun, she promises to melt away the frozen coat that crept into your garden.