The yellow of the sun through the curtains on a lazy Saturday morning
The sound of nothing, almost- as the slow traffic rumbles seemingly far away-
from your blanket cocoon.
The warmth of fresh cow’s milk on the tip of your tongue
Sweetened, almost- with the apiary honey-sharp, and gold
dripping on the round of the spoon
The sound of nobody’s else’s footsteps, but your own
Through the wooded nature reserve- the call of the birds, and changing colors-
calling for sunset soon.
The cool evening breeze as it deftly cuts through your hair
Swirling, not so silently- to a deep blue sky, cloudy- but for a thin silver lining
promising the moon.