I would call this a red-rose moment.
A moment, perfect, now.
It will wither, at a touch of frost or time.
But I will always remember it as this.
The deep breath of air out of captivity.
The glint of the sun of the due on the grass of that place we went last summer.
I see into your eyes.
Mottled tones of the wildflowers in the fields; with matching beauty.
We were together, that sweet summer morning.
Sweet in scent, sweet in my memory.
Nothing will match the light peeking through the clouds like an excited child, after the
And the excited jump from that old forgotten tree house we used to play in as kids.
The old man tree stands carved by memories.
a hundred before us, I am certain.
Drop your facade of discoloured cover.
A winter cold, etches in the soul of the tree.
Much like a person, the scar tissue a perverse illustration of pain.
The summers hot and fiery, creaking the bones warm.
Birds and rainbows, rain, sun, shine.