The aroma of fresh, wet grass, the tickle of soft pollen, the chirps of swallows and finches, the humm of tiny flies, sprinkled as gold dust over a meadow
The wind is but a whispering kiss, and above, the clouds sail through a sky painted by Raphael.
The sun moves along there, drawn by an invisible chariot, its size a matter of perspective only, just as everything else in life.
And as the light fades to light up different fields in distant worlds
we reflect in its afterglow, keeping the fire within until a new day’s dawn, slumbering with the warmth resting on our skin of summer’s first kiss.