I keep coming back to the words,
they keep reminding me,
they rise in thought
inviting me to take their meaning,
inviting me to stop everything
and go down deep
and let myself be fully realigned

The words keep coming back to me
like glimpses of beauty
and the sudden concentration of freshness
in the air — from what? from wind,
from sun? From the sweet breath
of trees and grass?
They come to me
like looking up and being amazed,
like seeing something that is always there
but now insists that I notice.

©Wendy Mulhern
May 28, 2019