How strange that we can begin at any time.
With two feet we get down the street.
With a hand we undo the rose.
With an eye we lift up, to peace, and hold it up to the wind; white blossoms at our feet.
Like today, I started in the started with my paper and pen, wind to my back, now walking down to the park.
Amazed that sun is only so high, just couple houses down, a child is singing, and a terrier is leaping like a flea.
This way that way, we're making shadows.
Where sunlight was, making words.
Where there was only noise in the trees, the wind blows rapidly.
It's just the wind and I, nothing else, thus sparks my inspiration.
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