The golden prairie

Grass glittered on

The shells of

Murmuring crickets.

Between some, brilliant

paintbrushes

Rose from thick muck,

anchored by

Shallow roots.

It takes years

Before one feels

The ground shifting

Under the soles of boots,

Taste the slight whispers

Of change in the air.

A breeze floats by, laden

With fresh youth.

I open my face,

Welcome it before

It dawdles away with

Its message.