Pensive

PENSIVE A smile almost whispered across her October face washing it with morning light. Nobody knew nor would they have understood, nor could they, nobody, except her animals and everyone else’s and those running free. The trees mingled with her thoughts teasing them in soft greens and browns and greys, swirling them in kaleidoscope patterns that danced sacred memories in the breeze. She slow-breathed the fluff-ball acacia air permeated with dreams and lifted her face to the sky to be kissed by the sun, like a waking daisy basking in gratitude and happiness and the deep, deep secrets of the rich, brown earth. She was of her beloved earth since time began. She was one of its special secrets as it was hers.