Blanket on the grass.
Winter has muffled the senses.
One by one, vividly, they awake.

The fresh air…cleaning, refreshing.
Color…last week dull, now vibrant, alive.
Two days of lavender and green, now joined by yellow…
Dandelions and another I don’t know, sprinkled in the grass.
Violets.
Bathed by the golden evening sunlight.


A book, a computer, a bottle of juice.
A sketchbook and Spencer’s gift:
A box of pastels.
A box full of… colors.


It’s beautiful.
A reminder to open my eyes.
Down in the grass I can see so much more than green…
There’s four shades of green, and gold and brown and black and white.
I can see the ladybug, and the ants crawling on my paper.


The breeze dances on my bare skin.
Another breath of fragrance…real fragrance…
not the kind in the bottle.

I can hear birds singing,
oblivious to the Harley store, the highway and the broken lawn mower.


Spencer’s doing the hammock justice, in deep sleep.
I’m forced off the porch, out into the yard…
he’s given me another gift.

Down in the grass I m coming alive like the colors around me
I’m not an artist…
The art’s been done.
Camera and pastels are just a lovely window
One I can use to see outside myself

And when I do, I see it, Spring
The real Artist is at work
It’s a masterpiece.


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Look me up on MySpace sometime, or AIM w0rm50


e-mail me: w0rm@hotmail.com


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