DAYDREAMS
On the early side of day, sapphire ribbons unwind from a whistle-clear sky to clothe glorious trumpets of Morning Glories, which dazzle the eye with their transient, frail enchantment.
Willow boughs nod responses to the muted voice of the wind as it shakes the perfume from a rose. The scented memory floats softly past, elusive as a damselfly. At the sun’s zenith, soft, tumbling cumuli gather their ermine robes and melt like day-shy stars. The song thrush rests, drowsing in the warmth, as I daydream in tune with life’s eternal rhythms
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