The worn boards smell of mildew
and butterfies skim my hair
The pure clean mountain air
intoxicates the bees, dragonflies & me
the moss cushions my tired feet &
gooseberry vines crawl on to &
under the rocks
Soft cotton daisy fluff
finds my fingertips
The creek swishes,gurgles and babbles
stories of yester-years
I sit under the bridge on rock
as she splashes my limbs back in time
the shocking cold wakes my senses
& the swift current whispers my
forgotten dreams
copyright: Dianne Tchir
