Whispers of wind and rain of places not forgotten

and adventures to places never seen

It rushes from my fingertips like ink

Swiping its wings upon the page and disappearing

into my mind again, leaving a trail of spots, black and blue

A myriad of crystalline orbs ringing as I pass

my thoughts through them, around them, an orchestra

It brushes past my ear, a flutter of sheet music

The smell of old books and the sharp tang of lemon

I open my eyes and breathe in

clovers and drops of dew, silver and new,

shivering in the soft breeze of a broken rain.