Nature

When I was younger, my favorite way to get back to "myself" was to sit in the woods.

To be beneath a tree,
A shadowy autumn sea-
Sitting in a cool breeze
Is the essence of my spirit.

The leaves trickle down,
Tear-dropped shaped and brown
At my step quails flee,
Only to find refuge somewhere else.

Upon the day creeps the eve,
A moonlit path bereaved
Of surface thoughts and fantasies
Leaving only deep desires.



Beignet