A late Sunday afternoon brought to you from watching leaves all caught up in the wind…
Resting tales upon a leaf in the breeze
Like a leaf, tumbling caught on the night air,
to bounce from place to place without despair.
Sharing stories before departure and a lark,
there’s no time left, now press on, run the dark.
Before sun up, the world stretches out, it’s so cold,
as to listen for the birds that bring a smile so bold.
Talking in their songs of night tales wide and far,
of the wee folk and their forest travels through the alder.
Travelling in tales of their dance and song,
the faeries of ancient times, righting wrongs.
Where the waters run fresh through the green isle,
making for the release of the sea across the twisting miles.
Down from the mountains through the hills and dales,
like silver ribbons across green cloth and gold trails.
Grasses of old before the salt air cries of the sea,
To carry ones heart far back home, to be free.
Where to sit upon her rocky coast far west,
on a summer solstice waiting for sunset.
To whisper a tale into the arriving wind,
of tomorrow’s thoughts for its future to begin.
Tomorrow’s not Monday, right?