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Waking Up [poem]

A warm breeze, not baking
But pure and natural,
Walks softly on my face.
Its soft hissing as it
Talks to me, the grass
Beneath me firm and soft.

Light breaks through with
Dark shards, becoming
A warm glow, white and
Soft, brilliant and healing.
Sitting up, I brush my hands through the grass,
As to an affectionate
Lock, the birds chime
To the call of a rumbling
Stream.

Their sweet rhythms come
To me as flowing vapours
The senses are at one.

Running, I become the
Vapour, flowing towards
The sky, the wind rushing
Through my hair, becoming
Me, becoming more,
Becoming everything,
Becoming nothing.

The wind falls, dropping
Faster and faster, down
Towards the ground, through
The ground, through the
Water, into a tree.

The tree throbs, pulsing
Vigorously as life flows
Through it. In its trunk
A core of pure radiance,
Of brilliance itself, its ebb
And flow pouring to distinct
Tips, each individual alone,
And yet all is one.

The tree shifts with the
Breeze, a leaf cracks
Free, as it swoops and
Falls, the wind stills
And does the leaf,
A part of the golden mosaic
At the foot of the tree.

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