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We lid midst summer's offerings of foliage and flowers, inhaling the comings and goings of dying petals falling to some forgotten fate. The cricket trills accompanying the murmuring melody of the season's last lyrical lark. No word is spoken; no stately silence shattered. Nothing but the plaintive sound of breezes delicately dusting my cheek. Our lives are floating with only the faraway lilt of the gentle bird song. Hush - the stillness is broken, but only to make the moment complete… it is the light traced touch of your lips on mine... |
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to J'S MAGIC |
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