Writing

I could worry about the little things 
The little things that don't matter
The material things 
The things nobody but myself sees

When I am no longer myself 
And you are no longer yourself 
Will we meet again? 

The snow fell in a layer thin enough for my footprints to reveal the concrete beneath each step. It lifted in waves when the wind skimmed the ground, like tall grass in an open field.

there is a sweaty girl in the equator

who sits in the fields of her farm, brewing eyes watching the cassava grow

she sits in the refreshing heat, a heat that caresses her cheeks and plagues her mind

Oh Earth, in your embrace we thrive,
Your soil, your sky, keep us alive.
You gift us trees and rivers wide,
With oceans deep and mountains high.

Tree branches scratch past my window

The breeze pulling them through the air

New leaves bud along their strong arms

The sky is clear, blue, and bright