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| Sweetest Senses |
| by Milady Bryfogle |
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| It is within my darkest hours that my mind turns to more tender things. Where the smallest items that miss the eye of others, I cherish and hold dear. I have watched the rain dance And listened to the bold roaring of thunder. I have felt the carress of the wind upon my face and smelt its perfume of wildflowers. Even snowflakes, have I tasted. The cold to chill me enough in blissful measure and send me steadily inside seeking the warmth of a fire. But I wonder, what else is missed? Perchance more than these few things by some. What of a child's first smile? Or even two lovers finally alone.. one hand to greet hand so bare. Am I the only one to see the grace that is left in the old hag's manner when the old seamen amble by? If only more could allow their hearts to see more than their eyes. Or if the mind were not in the way to school and chide one from acting upon these thoughts and sights. But the moment I start to worry if my own heart is open enough, a smile is brought upon falconwing to watch it soar. And I know that I am very much.. alive. |
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