Four kindred souls,
Peaking over the young faces all enthralled,
Four different paths,
One fishing pole,
Smooth is the air like soft sanded wood,
Smooth is the air like soft butter,
Smooth is the air like water flowing,
Smooth is the air that is blowing past me.
I see colors these are all around me.
Wind blowing through all the empty branches,
a promise of springs rebirth.
How the colors in the falling leaves embrace my heart in warmth,
Tadpoles scatter in all the creeks,
murky water paints as if field wildflowers.
Feet impact the standing water,
little yet loud laughter impacts the air.