wings of fire

Something Yellow


There is something in the bright yellow of a dandelion that makes me smile.

Something sweet in the golden drip of honey,

The way it turns your frown ever so slowly into a smile,

Fine Wind, Clear Morning:
  
Tall red peaks with snow.
A huge valcano waiting.
To explode, erupt.

 

The girl tosses her long brown curls desend down her shoulders, her smile glows like a million fireflys, her perfect skin smooth her portrait oval with red lips like cherries.

When you wake up.

the cold air whisks around your face.

Fresh.
Walking down to the lakeside.

a thick mist visible on the clear surface.

You push your boat into the water and clamber in.

(I would choose snow)

Snow the way it falls onto the ground
the impact, soft like a feather
yet hard making the green and brown world pure white.
The way the sun reflects off of it bouncing into your eyes and blinding you.

My hands are small but hold so many memories.
Each line a story.
New. 
Or.
Old.
A canvas for the future.
Painting the lines with possibility.
Sketching the fingers with hope.