Who wants a lift When you can do this When you can take a whiff Of the scents of leaves underfoot When you can sniff the air Feel the softest breath of the breeze on your skin Feet sinking into soft pathways Freshly made by the morning rain For too long I didn't know Nothing is better than a slow stroll Close to the river's ebb and flow A tree canopy so close it looks like a stroke Of green feather dusters wiping the sky clean Of clouds It's sharp blue astonishing Clear of all but the yellow rays of sun Reflected artfully in window panes Duplicated on the rippled surface Glimpsed between dancing plants As I glance On my way past, in rapt attention.
