Monday 4:20 p.m.
Warm as it may seem
breezy as it is
bright with the sun's sweet kiss,
the water is frigid.
***
When I heard the weatherman announcing seventy degree weather, I changed out of my sweater: spring top, slacks, no socks, light scarf. When I saw them in shorts, flip flops, and tees, I promised myself I'd escape. And so the four o'clock hour finds me here, at the river's edge, slacks rolled up, toes dancing inthe water, pen in hand singing praise as the water lolls me to good spirits.
I think it must have been the winter that made me that way. It was the winter with its blue tint and icy chill that stole my happiness away.
I'm happiest now. What can be more serene than flip-flops and sunshine? What can be better than the water speaking her dreams to the wind upon which the birds, my hopes, and my dreams soar?
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